


Strike to the Heart

by Dalzo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, like seriously sloowww burn, put an emphasis on 'eventual'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalzo/pseuds/Dalzo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending years on the bench, Arya's finally ready to get back on the field with the Winterfell Cats.</p><p>Add in an old peace activist, a tree ready to be ripped from its roots and a minor crush on her coach and you've got yourself a disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the whole team, however these aren’t permanent positions for every game. It’s basically just their best position. In order to make it realistic I’ll need to shift the players around when a character won’t be available for a game, since that shit happened all the time in my women’s football team. Anyways, this is the gist of it. If you’re unsure of what these positions entail, just google it. Here they are:
> 
> GOALKEEPER  
> Erena Glover  
> Mandie Thompson (mostly back-up goalie)
> 
> DEFENSE  
> Brienne Tarth – Sweeper  
> Donella Hornwood – Right-Back  
> Alysane Mormont – Middle  
> Willow Heddle – Left-Back  
> Mandie Thompson – No preference
> 
> WINGS  
> Fae Butler (Weasel) – Right-Wing  
> Wylla Manderly – Left-Wing  
> Gemma Holt – No preference 
> 
> MIDFIELDERS  
> Arya Stark  
> Mira Forrester  
> Beth Cassel
> 
> STRIKERS  
> Lyanna Mormont  
> Julie Winters  
> Beth Cassel (if Strikers need break).

 

   **CHAPTER ONE  
**  First Meetings  
  
**  
**

The first thing she noticed were the beaming lights, shining down on a lush green field. The white lines were visible and clear, just like the players who blurred from a distance as they carried out one of their weekly training sessions. They were boys, probably under-sixteens at best, earning a hard drilling as the first match of the season loomed closer and closer.

Just a ways away from this particular field was a small two-story building, with the club’s name displayed on a big red sign in bold black letters. Next to it was the picture of a cat. _The Winterfell Cat’s…_

 _Very intimidating,_ Arya thought as she twisted the key and stopped the car. A group of women huddled under the building and she immediately knew that had to be her team.

With a sigh, she turned to the passenger seat and began digging through her bag, finding and taking two Panadol’s to quell the impending headache. Taking a deep breath, she then hopped out her car, grabbing the bag that had her phone, water bottle and jumper as it was quite chilly and passed the field of players who seemed to be finishing up, making her way over to the women.

They stared once they noticed her, and Arya’s steps began to feel quite heavy. “Arya, is it?” Her head snapped left at the voice, neck craned upwards to the tallest woman in the Universe. Platinum blonde hair, big shoulders and legs that went on for days, she seemed to be an ‘Amazonian Goddess’. She nodded her head at ‘Amazonian woman’ before turning to look at the rest of the team’s curious glances. “I believe introductions are in order?” Arya smiled.

“Right,”

“I’m Brienne,” Amazonian Woman said. “I play Sweeper. Over there are the Mormont sisters.” Brienne pointed to two girls, one in her early-thirties the other surely in her teens. They both had dark brown hair, similar facial features and both quite short but the oldest was chunky, with lots of meat on her bones while the other was skinny and lanky. “Alysane is defence, but our young Lyanna here is out ‘Star-Striker’. Wylla over there is one of our Wings,” Wylla had blonde roots but the rest of her hair was a pastel green. “Don’t mind her when she swears at everyone and everything. She’s the short-tempered one of the team. Mira is a midfielder, Erena our Goalie, and Donella another one of our defensive line.” Mira was quite tall, skinny with a pale face and long brown hair, Erena chunky and short, which was odd for a Goalkeeper and Donella seemed to be the oldest on the team. She must’ve been close to her fifties, short grey hair and hard cold eyes that spoke of grief. She was probably incredibly fit at her age to be playing first division women’s.

“This is Fae, but everyone just calls her Weasel,” Brienne continued on, gesturing to a small woman in her early-twenties, dirty-blonde hair pulled into a long straight pony-tail. She was tiny, smaller than Arya who was 5’1, which is a small accomplishment in a way. “And lastly, we have Julie, our other Striker. You’ll meet the others some other time, but it’s just us for tonight.”

The group’s conversation turned to first-meeting-pleasantries, which was a little awkward but no so much that it was unbearable. They asked Arya’s position, which she replied with Midfield. She seemed to be drawn to Wylla and Weasel after they talked about the dramatic ending to the final of the Bachelor, when Loras Tyrell dropped the bomb and announced he was actually gay. It was brutal. They bonded over random things, like their love of Braavossi culture and the way the ad for the next season of MasterChef gave them goose bumps with the dramatic music as pictures of delicious food flashes by. They’re on the topic of ‘favourite red wines’ when Arya notices that they’ve been standing there for a good ten minutes, no coach to be seen.

“So, do we have a coach?” She asked the whole group, everyone rolling their eyes in response

“Yes.” Wylla answered. “The pricks trainin’ with those bloody twelve year olds.” Wylla’s vocabulary would shock a Sailor, that’s for sure. “Oh look, the tosser’s finally gracing us with his presence.”

“Alright girls?” _Wow…_

The coach was tall, a tad taller than Brienne, with an easy grin and gorgeous blue eyes. His coal black hair stuck to his forehead and fell into his eyes from sweat. He hadn’t shaved for a while, that much was clear from the heavy amount of stubble that covered his face and part of his neck. The skin-tight Nike shirt stuck to his body, displaying every muscle available. He was gorgeous. Arya could tell someone else thought so, too, with the way they trailed behind him with a mischievous glint in their eye. At least an attractive man like this didn’t make her swoon or blush like a teenager in love.

“Gendry, this is Arya, the new Midfielder. She signed up last week.” His eyes turned down to her.

“Pleasure to meet you, Arry.” He held out his hand, which she hesitantly took. He had a strong grip, looking her up and down, probably judging if she was fit or not.

“It’s Arya!” She corrected, and satisfaction blossomed in her stomach when the tips of his ears flushed red.

“Sorry,” He mumbled.

“Oh, and this is Willow, she plays defence.” Brienne announced. I said a chipper ‘hello’, with a slight awkward wave, but she was too busy trying to get Gendry’s attention. In a way, she looked like Arya, small and skinny with brown hair. Only her eyes were brown, and not some dull grey, her brown hair looked shiny and thick whereas Arya’s looked mousy, thin and was short, she actually had breasts that were visible under her tight work-out clothes, didn’t have a long face that resembled a horse’s and she definitely didn’t have a big hideous scar that went from shoulder to hip.

“Don’t mind her. She’s been craving Gen’s attention since she joined two years ago. Don’t know why; he’s such a stupid twat sometimes.” She laughed along with Weasel at Wylla’s comment.

“Alright girls, balls are over there,” He pointed to the field where the boys were training just minutes ago. “Two laps ‘round the pitch. I’ll add a third for cuttin’ corners. And with the ball!” He shouted as everyone made their way over to the pitch.

Arya carefully but quickly dribbled the poor around the field and was breathless by the time she finished. She was amongst the first players who finished their laps, alongside Brienne, Lyanna and Weasel.

 “Been a while since you played?” Brienne asked as they started stretching out their limbs, a precautionary act to not pull or injure something. 

“Eight-seven years.” She replied, pulling her left leg up to her butt, staring at the grass for balance.

“That’s three laps, Manderly!” Came Gendry’s booming voice, right beside her and she instantly jumped. He mumbled a soft ‘sorry’ as Arya almost lost balance and fell over, and steadied her with one of his large hands resting on her shoulder. Once steady, the sudden warmth was replaced by the sharp cool hair.

“Get fucked, Water’s,” Wylla’s retort went with a nice, straight middle finger and a heavy glare that was visible even from this side of the field. He chuckled, shaking his head as he did so.

“Eight-seven years?” Arya turned in surprise to see his heavy gaze on her, grin still in place from his and Wylla’s playful banter.

“Around that long, yeah.” She replied, bringing her other leg up towards her butt.

“Why did you stop, if you don’t mind me asking?” His voice was quite deep, but clear all the same; loud, was the only way to truly describe it. It was a tone that would carry from the sideline.

“I was eighteen, had just finished school and moved up here to start university. I was more focused on school and my job than anything else. I also wanted to travel, so the idea never really crossed my mind.” She admitted just as the rest of the girls joined in on the warm-up stretches.

“I get it; life gets in the way.” He said just as I stretched over and touched my toes. After ten seconds in the position, I straitened up to find Willow’s ‘gaze of hatred’ trained on me and Wylla with a big smug smirk plastered on her face. ‘What’ I mouthed at Wylla, nodding over to Willow once she was looking away. Her smirk only seemed to get wider.

“Alright, partner up and do some passes. Start short then increase the distance, you know the drill. I want to see smooth and controlled passes, girls.” Since there were eleven girls, that meant a group of three which Arya, Weasel and Wylla were perfectly happy to do. They moved away from the others and she finally asked about Willow’s obvious distaste.

“Gendry fucked your arse with his eyes.” Both Arya and Weasel cringed at Wylla’s choice of words.

“He _was_ staring at your bum, Arya.” Weasel admitted, passing the ball over to Wylla. “It was completely obvious considering you had just bent over and given him a perfect shot.”

“I’m sure he does it all the time.” Arya tried brushing it off. “I mean, he’s young, coaching a group of mostly-young fit women.” Wylla and Weasel shook their heads.

“No, Arya, we’ve all been with him for two to three years now, we’re like sisters to him whereas you’re a new puzzle in his eyes.”

“Also, you have a pert round arse that I’d grope after a few glasses of wine. Seriously love, your arse is fucking amazing.”

“You do have a really nice bum.” Weasel agreed with a small smile.

“The Mormont sisters have good bums too, though, and Willow has—”

“Lyanna’s seventeen, Alysane has two kids, a husband and is basically Gendry’s second mother alongside Don. And don’t you dare say Willow has a nice arse, it’s gross and saggy!”

“If you haven’t gathered by now, Wylla hates Willow.”

“Everyone hates the bitch, not just me.” Everyone moved onto practicing headers, volleys and trapping the ball while Gendry set up some cones for an upcoming drill. “Her face was priceless when Gen stared at your arse. I bet she’s seething.” Wylla said with an evil grin.

“Well by the way she keeps on glaring over here, I’d say you’re right.” Arya groaned.

“First trainin session and I’ve already made an enemy.”

Gendry called for them to gather round the cones, where they proceeded to do some sprint work, ball skills and ended it off with Erena in goals and Gendry and Brienne defending; the rest were attackers working in groups of two. Wylla and Weasel paired up while Arya paired up with Mira, her fellow mid-fielder. They small talked before their turn, and she was glad that the conversations was going smoothly instead of awkwardly trailing into nothingness.

Wylla and Weasel got it past the defenders with ease, only for Wylla to stuff up the kick that went wayward and shout out a string of swear words that would make a sailor proud. Then came their turn.

Mira passed it to Arya, where she proceeded to quickly pass it back once she was in an open position since Gendry was right in front of her. He moved back to position as Mira struggled to get it past Brienne and instead opted for passing back to Arya. From this point on, Brienne was hot on Mira’s heels and she was unable to get into space. It was all on her.

Quickly dribbling it down the field, she drew Gendry out from his position while Brienne was preoccupied with Mira. Only when he was right in front of her did she pull a step-over, faking-right before nudging it left with the outside of her foot. She was just outside the box and had manoeuvred herself around him. Arya planted her right foot beside the ball, swinging back her leg as she leaned into the kick with her head over the ball.

FWACK!

The ball curved right, swerving into the top-right corner, just what she was aiming for. Mira let out a loud ‘YES’ while Gendry grinned, clapped her on the back.

“Absolutely brilliant play, ladies. And great shot, Arya.” She flushed at his compliment and allowed herself a little pride before focusing with Mira once they met up, planning another strategic play that won’t involve too much improvising.

After Gendry switched around the defenders and they drew the drill out a bit longer, it was ten past and time for a small half-field game. It was light vs dark t-shirts.

The lights consisted of:

Weasel, Mira, Willow, Julie, Alysane and Erena.

The darks consisted of:

Arya, Brienne, Wylla, Donella and Lyanna.

Throughout the game, Gendry’s booming laugh could be heard, echoing in the night as he teased Wylla for being lazy or made a funny remark on the way the Mormont sisters ran. It was so loud, deep and oddly warm that it put an instant smile on Arya’s face.

Occasionally he’d yell out corrections and personally came over to Arya to give her some advice on the painful thigh cramp she got mid-game.

The score was 2 all and they’d passed the usual end-time for the training session. Donella had possession, drawing out Mira before passing it to Arya. She ran it up the line, shouting out commands for Lyanna while Gendry clapped them on with the usual ‘GREAT PLAY, GIRLS’.

She could see Willow getting closer, charging with fury. With a quick glance around, no one was open for the ball except Lyanna is she crossed it to her. She leaned into the big kick and brought the ball in towards the goal, landing a little way ahead of Lyanna.

She beat of Erena, got into position and kicked the goal right between the two cones. The dark-shirts cheered, hi-fiving each other while Gendry called it quits for the night.

“Alright girls, great training session!” She shouted with that easy-grin lighting up his facial expressions. “Arya, would you do me a huge favour and help me pack up.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wylla smirking. The hard train left her sweaty, hair escaping the tiny pony-tail and sticking to her face.

“Later Arya. Oh wait, I don’t have your number!” She didn’t bother turning around, waving her hand in dismissal as Gendry walked beside me towards the pile of balls.

“I’m on Facebook!” Arya shouted back.

“So, you’re a lefty?” She looked up to Gendry to find him smiling down at her.

“Yup.” She said, popping the ‘p’.

“That’s great. Donnie’s our only other lefty and she’s defence so it really doesn’t make a difference. I can tell you’ll throw the opposition off guard. You did really well out here tonight.”

“Thanks,” She said, flushing. “Do you play?”

“Premieres League, Sweeper.”

“Ahh, of course.” She picked up two balls and put them in the bag/net stretched out with his hands. “I bet you wish you were coaching those under sixteens boys instead of a bunch of complaining women.”

“Not at all. You women are my entertainment.”

“So you’re just using us, then? For you to explore your sadistic side and get a laugh out of it as well?” She smirked up at him as she placed the last ball in the net, his shocked gaze meeting hers before relaxing into a smile. She turned and went to fetch the cones before he replied.

“You haven’t even seen my sadistic side yet. Wednesday is fitness.” Arya groaned. “Wylla will most likely make up some bull-shit excuse and not come or leave early.” She snorted.

“Probably. You two seem close.”

“Yeah, we went to Uni together. She’s hilarious, one of my best mates actually.” Arya smiled again, and looked up to those blue eyes again.

“She seems like a great person to have a few wines with. Her and Weasel.”

“So you’re liking the team, then?”

“One hundred percent yes.” They proceeded to turn off the beaming lights, pack the equipment in the shed (first floor of clubhouse) and made their way to the near-empty carpark.

“So, I need your number,” He flushed at her questioning gaze. “For, you know, game updates or if training’s off and all that.”

“Oh, right.” She dug through her bag, finding her phone and bringing up her contacts. She handed her phone to him, telling him to put his contact in. She sent him a picture of her dog, Nymeria, as a puppy.

“A puppy?” He questioned when he unlocked his phone.

“She’s so cute, though.” She grinned, walking towards her small Hyundai i30. He made his way to his big black Triton.

“I’ll see you Wednesday. Don’t be late, or I’ll make you do four laps.”

“See you later, Gen.” She didn’t mean to call him Gen, it just slipped out. And from the way he flushed he didn’t seem to mind all that much.

By the end of the night, Arya had a string of Facebook friend requests, had already been invited to the group chat and was sending out her number to the girls. It was eleven o’clock, she’d had too much red wine and was flushed with the mixture of alcohol and from laughing too much at the Graham Norton Show.

She fell asleep on the lounge, curled up beneath a woolly blanket with a smile on her face. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was Friday morning and her muscles were still sore from Gendry’s training. He certainly wasn’t lying about Wednesdays fitness sessions, with the constant running, the core and thigh work; it was _exhausting._ It’d been four weeks since she joined up with the team and already she felt like a permanent member despite Willow’s dislike towards Arya. Her first game would be on Sunday and the nerves were starting to kick in. It’d been a long time since she’d played a game of football.

With a sigh, Arya left the warmth of her bed and proceeded to put on some yoga pants, a tight singlet paired with her active jacket. Lacing up her joggers, she set out on a run. It was a gorgeous morning with the orange sun lighting up the frosty streets she ran through. Winterfell was always pretty in autumn. Nymeria ran beside her, occasionally stopping to sniff at a tree or bark at another dog behind a fence. More than once Arya had to yell at her to not poop on the sidewalk.

She arrived home hot, sweaty and bothered with Nymeria heaving out breaths beside her, instantly making her way to her water dish while Arya grabbed a glass of water. Then she made her way to the shower and stripped off her tight clothes. In the process, she caught a glimpse of the thing she despised most about herself. She was naked in the mirror, with small breasts and rosy pink nipples erect from the cool air, a nice toned stomach from staying fit all these years, and a small thatch of tamed dark curls that she would either trim or shave in the next couple of days. Years ago, she never _cared_ what she looked like, how big her breasts were or how pale she was compared to the tanned goddesses with their bleached hair, thick plump lips and bright blues eyes. But now, as she turns in the mirror studying every small curve, every strange stretch mark, mole or freckle she grimaces at the sight.

It’s the scar she hates the most. Thick, long and pink stretched upon her side, from shoulder to waist. A of that reminder horrible night, a reminder of her ugliness. Sometimes its looks like a great worm has attached itself to her skin. Whenever she does this and takes a long look in the mirror, scorning herself and frowning at the image before her, she wishes she could go back to the days where she always had scabbed up knees, bruises from _Gods_ knows what, wearing her older or younger brothers’ shirts and always messing up the elaborate braids her mother did. She would smile and laugh, grabbing at the strange flowers she’d always find on an adventure with Mycha to gift them to her mother and father; sometimes she’d even give one to Sansa if she was nice.

But now, she isn’t that person anymore. Now she worries what people think of her, how they judge her; is she attractive or not? Arya tries to forget these thoughts as the scalding hot water runs down her back but it’s near impossible. _I need alcohol,_ she thought as she ran the shampoo through her short hair. She quickly finished washing her hair before shutting the water off, towelling herself dry and changing into a pair of black jeggings, simple white t-shirt with her dark denim jacket and black converse high-tops. She ran a comb through her now dry hair thanks to the hairdryer before giving up entirely and simply scrunching it up into a small messy bun at the nape of her neck.

Now dressed, she grabs her travel mug, fills it with black coffee and locks up the house behind her as she heads to work.

B&W Post is the top Newspaper in the North, a privilege for Arya even if she does have to write some really pathetic articles and be grammar girl more than once a week. They really did report and deliver important news of the North _and_ South, and the Politics section was good, perhaps even better than KL Examiner, the top Newspaper for _politics_ in Westeros. There was the stupid _gossip_ section however, where rumours of Lora Tyrell being gay (which was surprisingly right) and Daenerys Targaryen owning _three real dragon eggs_ surfaced, but the people in the North ate it up despite everyone’s usual cynical approach in the North. Arya was proud to be working in such a place, especially when she had her best friend working by her side.

“Morning.” Meera said while Arya entered the office, immediately sitting in her cubical. “Jeggings? Aegon won’t be too impressed.”

“Fuck the dress code.” Arya replied. “You want to go to the Peach tonight and get pissed?”

“What’s the special occasion?”

“No reason, I just feel like intoxicating myself.” Meera peered over the small half-wall that separated the desks. Her dark curly hair was in its usual ponytail, her mossy green eyes shining through the lens of her thick rimmed glasses.

“Shall we invite the newlyweds?” She asked with a smirk.

“I don’t know, do _married_ couples prefer staying at home watching the new MasterChef series? Definitely invite them; I haven’t seen Bran drunk since the wedding.”

“On it.” She said, disappearing behind the wall to do just that. “You watch the Bachelorette last night?”

“Of course. Gods, why is the _main_ person always a fucking Tyrell? And how many Tyrell’s are there anyways?”

“They supply the roses, don’t they? Hopefully it’ll be as eventful as the Bachelor. What time do we want them to meet us?”

“7:30 I suppose. Are they definitely coming?”

“Bran said he’ll _think_ about it. By the way, I’m stalking your uncle on Insta’ and he’s fucking fitter than that hot coach of yours. Gods, why is your whole family so fucking photogenic.”

“I’d hook you up if he wasn’t my uncle. He’s much too annoying for you anyways, with his _constant_ urge to travel anywhere and everywhere.”

“I only want to shag him, Arya.” She cringed; he was her uncle after all.

“Do you realise that the office is a place for work, not a place for you two to talk about all the blokes you want to take home?” Arya looked up and groaned. “Also, those ‘jeggings’ are inappropriate for the workplace.” Arya could basically see Meera’s _told-you-so_ smirk as she stared at Aegon’s strange purple gaze. His long platinum-blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun, much like hers, only much thicker, neater and attractive. Aegon always had this playful demeanour about him, yet held this strange solemn expression in his face. Gods was he an arse, an attractive one though. Perhaps arse is too harsh, maybe workaholic?

“Are my jeggings affecting anyone here at this present moment?” She asked, tilting her head up at Aegon who rolled his eyes.

“I don’t make the rules Stark. I do, however, follow them and so should you.”

“Is there a reason for you to be standing at my desk or are you just stopping by to have a lovely conversation?” The second after the question left her lips he dumped a big hefty stack of notes on her desk.

“Proof read and correct all this, research the _scientifically proven_ quotes you come across and make sure they’re true, lies are even worse than a gossip magazine. And Gods, tune down the overused italic and bold font in Wendy’s article. She’s already giving me a headache and deadline isn’t for another week.”

“That’s all?” She asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. He did a double take, smirking at her attitude before throwing a small plastic folder on top of the pile.

“Since you asked so _politely,_ here’s an extra article for the gossip section. Read it last, would you? If you need _any_ help I’ll be in my office.” Arya watched as he retreated back to his office, shutting the door removing him from her view.

“That fucker!” Arya snarled. “Why does he always palm this shit on me?”

“Because you’re a sarcastic twat to him.” Meera replied in a bored tone.

“I wouldn’t have to be a _sarcastic twat_ if he didn’t wipe Jaqen’s arse all the time.” Arya spat as she began sorting through the pile.

“I don’t blame him; _I_ would wipe Jaqen’s arse if I was close to a twenty percent raise. Fuck me with a stick, Ar, twenty-bloody-percent! Plus, Jaqen is super fit and cooler than a cucumber!” Arya pulled a face; _what does that even mean?_

“You do realise that’s your boss you’re talking about? Besides, he’s a total slimy git. I caught him looking down my shirt once. Caught a nice good look at my tits.”

“What tits? All that went straight to your arse.”

“Touché, whore.” Meera snorted.

“You’re welcome, slag.” Arya refrained from groaning after seeing just _how_ much italic and bold font Wendy used when she read through the first sheet. _Fucking Wendy!_

~*~ ~*~

 

“What the fuck is this, Aegon?” It was currently seven PM, most of her co-workers had gone home after a busy Friday and were most likely on the piss this present moment. Arya, however, had done her research, grammar corrected half of the pile Aegon had given her and had only just finished reading what her article entailed.

“Stark…” He whispered with closed eyes, sitting in his fancy desk chair with his fingers rubbing at his temples. “I feel a migraine coming on and would _really_ appreciate if you didn’t shout at me.”

“I’ll make this short and quick.” She said, leaning over with her hands on the edge of his desk for balance. Aegon’s eyes finally snapped open, blankly staring into her eyes. “I _want_ a different article. This is hopeless, yet _another_ report on Oberyn Martell’s latest _scandal_. I want an article that means something to the public; something that isn’t just fake entertainment; something that will—”

“ _Inspire…_ We’ve all had the dream, Arya, all of us. An article that will make the writer known, not just the story itself. Except, that business belongs to _novel writers,_ Arya, _Authors_ of books like _Harry Potter, To Kill a Mockingbird, Catcher in the Rye_ – Gods even fucking _Twilight!_ Legendary books that make people happy; make them happy even in their darkest times; _inspiring…_ ”

“I don’t mean it like that. I just, Gods— I want something more than just a _fucking_ gossip article.” He sighed as she started pacing his office. “Come _on_ , egg, let me do this; I _can_ do this! _Please.”_

“Fine, just— don’t make me regret this Stark, or I’ll bloody hang you from the ceiling. I’ll have it to you by Monday, I don’t know what but…” She rushed over to where he sat and flung her body onto his, hugging him. When she released him he was blushing, a red tinting at his perfect cheekbones, his angled square jaw clenched with embarrassment. For once, Arya thought Aegon _cute._ She almost found herself flushing at the thought.

She turned to rush out of the office but his voice stopped her. “Arya.” He blurted out, making her turn. “ _Inspire me.”_ She snorted before thanking him again and skipping out the door with joy. Meera rolled her eyes once she saw Arya, doing some silly dance that had Wendy giving her the look of death in the corner.

“Wylla texted you when you were flirting with _purple eyes_ in there.”

“She did?” Arya asked, putting a halt to her ‘fabulous’ dance moves and reaching for her phone on the desk.

 

 **Text from: Wylla Fucking Manderly**  
Prems about 2 go on @ home. U in??  
Drinks after obvs :P

“What does she want?” Meera asked while she studied her reflection in her phone, fixing the stray hairs in her messy ponytail.

“Football game is on. Top Men’s league is apparently _infamous_ for fights. It’s bloody cold however and I’m in the mood for drinks.” Arya quickly typed her reply.

 

 **Text from: Arya Stark**  
Soz already got plans w/   
non-alcoholic ppl besides Meer’s.  

**Also it’s bloody fkn cold**

As much as she wanted to see Gendry all sweaty and hot from playing a football match, and maybe whip is shirt off at the end – Gods help us – the thrill of alcohol would be much pleasing than the weather. Plus, he was her coach: she shouldn’t be thinking this.

“I would definitely be down to see that hot coach of yours if you want to go.”

“Fuck that, let’s get pissed.” Arya said, strapping the bag around her shoulder and saying goodbye to the few co-workers that were still in the office.

“We could always just sneak in some Vodka at the fields, also get a meat pie and smash it all down.”

“Meera, you really need to meet Wylla.” She said, shaking her head at the resemblance of the two.

“What? All I want to do is see hot, fit men playing Soccer!”

“Well you certainly won’t get their attention calling it soccer! Come on, let’s go!”

“ _Fine!”_ She grumbled, following Arya out the door. A few seconds later her phone vibrated in her pocket.

 

**Text from: Wylla Fucking Manderly  
You bitch!**

**UR THE ALCOHOLIC!**

 

~*~ ~*~

 

“Evening all!” Arya turned from her seat and grinned up at her brother.

“Brandon Stark, did you get a _haircut?”_

“Do you like it?” Jojen asked, hand resting through Bran’s hair, clutching and ruffling it much to his distaste. “I think it’s better long. That way I can pull at it when he sucks my—”

 _“We’re your sisters, we don’t need to know this information!”_ Meera shrieked while Jojen only chuckled with Bran reddening beside him. “Anyhow, you _newlyweds_ ready to buy the first round.”

“Shouldn’t _you_ be getting the first round as a way of celebrating our love?”

“We started early.” Arya nodded to the nearly-empty glasses in front of them, all the while getting up to let Bran in the booth.

“Gods, do you know how much I spent to get good fucking accommodation for your damned wedding!” Meera complained. “I had to put up with Jeyne Poole for four days. FOUR. DAYS!”

“We did warn you to get in early.”

“Fuck you warnings; and you!”

“I guess I’ll get the first round. What’ll it be, ladies?” Jojen asked.

“A Corona sounds good. You Meer’s?”

“Vodka Raspberry. Don’t give me that look.”

“Are you twenty-seven or did you just turn eighteen?” Bran asked, snorting. “I’ll have a pint of Guinness, love.”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“So,” Meera began. “How was the honeymoon?” Bran’s whole face lit up the second he started talking.

“Dorne is actually the nicest _fucking_ place ever! Gods, the beaches were just – amazing, nothing like the North. It was always sunny, must’ve rained only once or twice unlike this miserable Northern weather; the fruit, oh Gods the fruit was so ripe and tangy and just fucking delicious. We went to this winery and got to taste all these different wines from Dorne – Gods, Ar, you would’ve loved it with your addiction to wine…”

This continued on even after Jojen brought the drinks, with Meera and Arya asking many questions and Jojen and Bran giving each other cute looks when retelling a particular memorable story. They showed pictures and videos of the beach which made them envious, and Arya was drooling over the numerous amounts of images of the fruit, hotel and warm spa-bath that was in Bran’s suite. It must’ve been an hour before they finally started a different topic and were currently eating the food.

The night continued on with Bran and Jojen promising to watch Arya’s game on Sunday, the nice band with the amazing bassist who kindly obliged when either Bran or Arya would request a _Red Hot Chilli Pepper’s_ song (Starks love their Chilli Peppers), and soon they found themselves dancing to the music among other people who were enjoying themselves.

Arya’s snapchat story displayed a bunch of tipsy idiots, well on their way to getting pissed. Arya and Meera were jumping to the thumping slap bass, stupidly shaking their hips and tossing their heads back with laughter when one of them would lose their balance and nearly topple over. That was when she saw him, watching her dance from a table with other men all freshly showered and looking worn-down and tired despite the lively attitude of the bar.

His blue eyes looked almost hungry, and for the first time Arya found herself agreeing with Wylla and Weasel whenever they proclaimed that Gendry had the hots for her. She turned her head, acting as if she hadn’t seen a thing, closing her eyes and swinging her hips in time to the rhythm of the music; popping out her bum and chest, dancing more provocatively yet in a secret way so it wouldn’t be noticeable that she was doing this on purpose. Meera was the only one who caught on and started up the same moves as Arya, noting that there were in fact a bunch of young, fit men at a table watching them dance among the other people.

“Arya!” She stopped, turned and saw Wylla and Weasel sitting with them, huge grin plastered to their faces. Meera gave her a smug look, before muttering something about ‘more alcohol’ and strutting over to where Bran and Jojen sat huddled.

Arya approached the table, almost feeling nervous once she reached it. A lanky ginger immediately fetched her a chair, placing it beside Weasel’s and shooting her a grin.

“I thought you had plans? Non-alcoholic ones…” Wylla asked, resting bitch face and all.

“Sorry. Did you win?” She addressed the team, feeling her Coach’s gaze burning into the left side of her face.

“Aye, we did! It’s been a long time, Underfoot.” Shocked, she turned to the voice above her and grinned.

“Harwin? Gods, how long has it been?” She asked, instantly embracing him. He was thinner than he was last time, now owning a beard that made him look older than he was before. His father, an old friend of the family, grew up close to the Stark family; Harwin, a few years older than Robb, was practically raised a Stark among Theon and Jon, her cousin. Last time she seen him it must’ve been—

Eddard Stark’s funeral…

“Too long.” He grunted out, wrapping his arms round her small body and certainly not willing to bring up the accident. “I already caught up with Bran; can’t believe he’s married!”

“I anyone going to introduce us to the lady or must I sit here like a daft fool, pretending to know the lass the whole night?” A big burly man said, wearing a bright yellow shirt and looking like a confused puppy.

“Lad’s, this is Arya; grew up with her family. Arya, this is a few blokes from the team. In the bright yellow we have Lem, that soulless ginger over there is Anguy; that old fart is Tom, the ugly one decked in red is Thoros; he’s from Myr and you know what they say about those bastards from Myr. And lastly, the Pentoshi fucker over there we call Greenbeard. You already know Gendry and the ladies, so I hear.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” She said with a small smile. “So, what was the score?”

“Three to one, Gods was it an exciting game. Gendry here got yellow carded – bad tackle of course – Anguy scored two of the three goals and some young prick, Ned Dayne scored the other.” Arya saw how Gendry’s hand tightened at the mentioning of Ned Dayne. Interesting.

“Next time I get a fucking yellow card, Waters, don’t yell at me. Nothin’ but a damn hypocrite.”

“The difference between me and you, Manderly, is that I get cards for accidental tackles; you, on the other hand, get carded for swearing at innocent sixteen year old girls.”

“How was I to know the fucker was sixteen? Did you see the tits on that girl?” While they continued to banter about, Harwin turned to her.

“So how’s your mum?”

“Good, good. She’d doing really well, amazing actually.”

“And the rest of the riff-raff.”

“Jon,” She snorted at that. “Well I’m _sure_ you know how well Jon’s doing, Sansa’s settled down with her husband; famous rugby player, Sandor Clegane—”

“Sansa, your sister, married the Hound? You’re joking, right?”

“Nope! It’s quite strange how she fancied herself in love with those pretty boys and her husband’s got burn scars down the side of his face.”

“Any children?” He asked.

“Not yet, but I think very soon and there’ll be a little bub on the way which will make mum over-the-moon. Robb’s doing well with the business, and… _Myrcella_. They just got engaged; and Rickon’s still the same wild Rickon, only much taller and filled with testosterone.”

The conversation with Harwin lasted another five minutes where she talked about her siblings and mother, the old memories all the while sipping on the Corona Meera brought over who was now in a serious conversation with Wylla, discussing Arya’s fit uncle Benjen.

“He followed me back on Insta! Arya, he followed me back!” Arya rolled her eyes.

“That’s only because you have your knockers out in every photo.”

“At least I have knockers!” Meera shouted back, the girls bursting into fits of drunken giggles when realizing how uncomfortable the men had got. “Oh sweetheart, you have an arse that makes up for these.” She grabbed her breasts and jiggled them for a second. “Aegon stares at it every time you walk past his office.”

“What!? No he doesn’t!”

“Yes he does. Give me your phone, I want to show them his Instagram.” Meera snatched Arya’s phone out from her hands, entering her passcode and tapping the Instagram app.

“Don’t be scared if you see a dick-pic on here, girls. Our Arya’s _no_ stranger to cock!”

“Anyone up for a game of pool?” Harwin choked out, leaving the table with Tom and Thoros following.

They continued to drink through the night, critiquing Aegon’s photos and dancing whenever the band struck up a good tune. Meera and Wylla certainly hit it off, much to Arya’s predictions. To Arya’s disappointment, the night came to an end when the bar announced last drinks for the night. The band packed up and left, the people in the bar dwindled and Arya and Meera were close to passing out. Stumbling out of the bar where they proceeded to call an Uber, Arya finally looked at Gendry when he placed his coat around her shoulders.

“Can’t have you sick for Sunday’s game now, can we?” She smirked up at him.

“That would be a tragedy.” She stepped closer to his warmth, the alcohol polluting her mind into thinking it’d be kay to climb him like a tree, right then and there.

“So you’re a beer-girl.” She snorted at this.

“Nope. Wine-girl, I’m afraid. Actually, just an alcohol type of girl, really.” He chuckled at this, warm and deep and rumbly; sexy…

Wylla and Meera began singing the traditional song to Winterfell FC, the infamous Northern club that did so well in the Westerosi league. Something about wolf howls, packs that stay together and winter? Arya was too drunk to recall the words.

“My coat suits you more than it does me, I think. Perhaps you should keep it.” She pulled said coat tighter around her, huddling into the warm fabric that smelled of cologne and Gendry, who clearly smelled amazing.

“It’s a bit big, don’t you think?”

“It’s cute. You’re cute.” He breathed out, hushed and rough from the wind. She pouted, just like a cute girl would in order to make herself look _cuter._

“Are you only saying that because I’m small?” He laughed and pat her head like a dog, which only made her growl and want to kiss him. Gods, did she love and hate alcohol and Gods did she want to kiss him. Probably would have if there wasn’t anyone around.

All too soon did the Uber arrive, and all too soon she was dragged away from Gendry into the car.

“Be at the fields at three, okay?” He shouted just as she was about to hop in the car. She turned, drunkenly saluted him and shouted goodbye to all the others.

That night, she didn’t think of her horrible, ugly scar. It was simply too good of a night!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya chats with her sister and game day arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in honor of that amazing, fantastic episode 'Battle of the Bastards', I thought I'd make our first opponents from the Dreadfort. HOW GOOD WAS THAT EPISODE! SO FUCKING GOOD!
> 
> also I apologize for any spelling mistakes as it is currently three am and I'm too lazy to check but I will tomorrow, probably after I've watched the finale! AND NOW WE HAVE TO WAIT ANOTHER FUCKING YEAR! GAAAAHH
> 
> CHEERS!

 

 

** CHAPTER THREE  
** **Game Day**

 

Arya’s sister could only be explained in one word; _perfect._ At least, that’s how she saw her sister when little. The truth is they never got along when growing up, always fighting and clashing heads. Their father always said it was because they were close in age and as different as the moon and sun. He’d chuckle whenever they’d start up a heated argument, something that drove their mother crazy. ‘As different as you two are, you both have the wolf-blood. Wild and fierce, even more terrifying than your brothers’. They’d both wrinkle their noses at that and continue to scream at each other while he’d sigh good naturedly, pick them up with one arm and set the container of lemon cakes that would usually shut them up.

When Arya was little, she was _jealous_ of her sister. She thought Sansa was perfect, with her looks, perfect manners and good-girl nature. The only thing Arya seemed to exceed better at than her was Maths and sport. Arya, however, liked to rebel, always picked fights with the wrong people and didn’t care for school much until secondary school. Basically, Arya and Sansa _hated_ each other, both jealous of each other for things _they_ didn’t even value about themselves. It took their father’s death and adulthood for them to mature up and realise the bigger picture. And now, after years of fighting, they were stronger than ever.

“You look like shit.” Sansa deadpanned as soon as the call connected. She looked gorgeous even though she was in pyjamas, chopping up vegetables in her beautiful, expensive kitchen that was her baby besides her Golden Retriever, Lady. “Have a fun night?”

“It was entertaining.” Arya answered while she flicked through Netflix.

“I’ve already talked to Bran. He didn’t exactly pull up well this morning. I’m assuming you were the same.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Bags under your eyes, paler than usual and you look knackered. Plus we Starks aren’t exactly good with Hangovers.” Arya snorted.

“Remember what dad used to say?”

Sansa giggled and looked at the webcam. “Starks can hold their liquor but they can’t hold it down. The only exception to that is Jon; Gods, he’s such a lightweight!”

“One Smirnoff Ice and he’s out cold. He’s half-Targaryen though so that explains it. Remember Jon’s aunt at his eighteenth?”

“Him and Dany were off their faces by eight and out by nine. If it wasn’t for Benjen the party would’ve been a gigantic flop. All his mates would’ve left, I think.” Arya was only twelve when Jon turned the big eighteen but she could remember Jon singing to some awful music alongside his gorgeous aunt Daenerys. She’d clap along to their off-tune voices and happily laughed with the other when they both upchucked the cake on each other.

“Dad was quite funny that night too. He was yelling out bud, punny dad-jokes while pulling some embarrassing, RSM dance moves with younger lads. If Jon wasn’t so drunk I think he would’ve been mortified.”

“YES! The two-step moves. Gods, mum was so happy that night. I remember her staring at his bum, commenting on it in front of me and Bran while Rickon ran in circles, hyper from the fizzy-drink.”

“Gods you two are loud. I’m trying to watch the bloody footy!” A deep rough voice grumbled out while a tall figure entered the frame of Arya’s laptop. Sansa had surely dated her fair share of shitty men – most notably Joffrey Baratheon – yet the one man she expected to be a huge prick was Sandor. Arya was pleasantly surprised when she found out _just_ how much of a softy Sandor was and formed a good natured relationship with her brother-in-law. He did, however, almost kill a former boyfriend of hers, Mycha, trying and over succeeding in the ‘over-protective-brother’ act. She was angry at him for months considering he was the reason for their split. She couldn’t stay mad at him though as the relationship never would’ve worked out; turns out Mycha is gay. _Whoops…_

“Bugger off, old-man, we’re having a heart-to-heart.” He rolled his eyes, grabbed his wife and kissed her hard on the lips. Arya tried not to cringe as they shared their ‘moment’.

“It smells delicious, love.” He said, hands at Sansa low back while her arms linked around his neck. Gods, Sansa may be tall but she truly was tiny compared to her husband.

“I thought you’d like it. Butter chicken, boiled ice with fried vegtables and asparagus.”

“I _do_ love my chicken.” He roughed out before they shared another heated, passionate snog. Arya cleared her throat, earning their attention. Her sister _somehow_ managed to look pretty even when flushing red like a tomato.

“I am still here, you know?”

“And how’re you, she-wolf? That boss of yours still a cunt?” He earned a slap for that, right to his muscled chest while Sansa scowled up at him for his foul language. Arya only snorted unattractively with laughter.

“He’s not a cunt, just an arse who loves his bloody job too much. However he is being a real nasty prick at the moment, dumping a fuckload of work on me.”

“What is _with_ people and foul-mouthed words like that? I don’t understand how you can say it with a straight face like it isn’t something dirty?” Sansa complained.

“It’s just a word, love. Besides, you don’t seem to whine when I use that _‘foul-mouthed word’_ while I fuck you senseless.”

“Gods. That was just- wow, I didn’t… Bran and now you!” Arya stuttered out, shaking her head in disgust while Sansa continued to blush and Sandor barked out laughter.

“You want me to rough him up a bit? That boss o’ yours?”

“I’m sorry, but don’t you live in Kings Landing?” She asked sarcastically. ‘And he’s not too bad. He’s giving me an actual, good _article_ that requires decent writing.

“Congratulations sister.” Sansa said, raising her glass of white wine to the webcam while Arya did the same with her light beer.

“Nice work she-wolf. Good luck for your _soccer_ game tomorrow.” He said mockingly, leaving the room while she hissed at him. _Bloody rugby players._

“I’m so in for a good shag tonight. Gods, I should really get this chicken cooked.” Sansa sighed, looking at her watch.

“My Braavosi food is about to be delivered in five minutes.” She announced smugly. “Sometimes take-outs the way, Sans!”

“Whatever you say, but a good healthy meal is better for you. And I know you cook, Arya, you just like to hide it so you don’t have to when someone comes up to visit.

“Anyways, good luck for your soccer game tomorrow, hope you win!”

“It’s football.”

“Yeah, yeah; text me the results. Goodnight, Arya.”

“Night Sans.”

After disconnecting the call she closed her laptop, settled on a short history documentary on the War of the Five Kings and happily ate her Braavosi food while sipping on her beer as the lazy Saturday night dwindled to an end. Tomorrow was certainly going to be a hard one. 

 

~*~ ~*~

 

“You’re late.” Arya instantly knew whose sinewy voice it was, standing behind her while she locked her car and with a look over her shoulder there he stood; dirty jeans, red t-shirt and a black puffy jacket wearing a Castle Black FC cap. She smiled up at him, knowing _just_ how big of a supporter he was to the Crows all in black and desperately wanted to smugly tell him she was related to the Captain of the Crows.

The gravel crunched underneath her as she walked over to his Triton. “An hour beforehand is a little ridiculous. Thirty minutes beforehand, however, I can understand.”

“You do realise that we have to set up nets, warm up, sign the match sheet and assign the shirt numbers considering sizes are an issue?”

“Okay, first of all the nets were already put up from the Fourths game this morning, Wylla said she’d save the  number 12 shirt for me and I don’t see out team exactly warming up at the moment. In fact, I believe they have yet to put their boots on.” He smiled and dropped his head in defeat, retaliating by throwing the duffel bag that held the kit straight into her chest, knocking her back a step or two. He proceeded to grab the crate of sponsored bottles from some small company of sorts and the net of balls in is other hand, slowing his space to walk beside her toward the fields.

“The fields are looking quite rough today.” Gendry scoffed.

“That’s a nice way of putting it; they’re fucking awful. The groundsman’s not going to be pleased.” He huffed out before glancing at her. “How’d you pull up yesterday?”

“My head was pounding, I was all gross and sweaty and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t upchuck my breakfast.” He chuckled at this. “You?”

“Me? I was fine. I only had two beers which is why I drove the lads home. I’m not big on the drinking, you see. I don’t really understand the hype.” His tone sounded like it’d been dipped in acid and when she looked up at him his usual, happy smirk-y expression was replaced by an odd, stony and serious one. _Interesting…_

The rest of the short walk was done in silence and for some odd reason Arya felt like she’d crossed some invisible barrier, asking a question much too personal for someone she only met a month ago. It was very strange.

“Afternoon all.” She announced brightly to the group of ladies, all stretching and chatting about some topic or two. “How is everyone?”

“Quite all right.” Brienne answered. “Although it is rather chilly for my taste.” There were hums of agreement at that.

“Heard about your _awful_ karaoke at the Peach the other night.” Mira said, smirking.

“Gods, she was terrible. I thought Wylla was tone-deaf but then I heard this one.” Weasel added.

“Sorry Ar, but you were pretty fucking bad. I had to cover my ears before they started bleedin’.”

“What is this? Roast on Arya day?” Weasel rolled her eyes at this.

“Come on ladies, hurry up!” Gendry said, irritated. “The other team’s already on the field, warming up.”

“Who is this team we’re playing?”

“Some team from the Dreadfort. They’re bloody dirty, those Dreadfort players. Basically scum!”

“Some fucking rat-nosed tart called me a slut when I got a penalty for her fucking fouling me!” Wylla complained loudly.

“Some grimy git threatened to flay me once on the men’s side.” Gendry added, laughing.

“What the fuck?” Arya exclaimed. “That’s awful.”

“He was a real bastard. Ended up getting his nose punched in for a antagonising Lem.”

“Prick got what he deserved then.” While everyone agreed and got their move on, Gendry began reading out positions.

“Erena, you know your position. Brienne go Sweeper, Donnie right back, Alysane middle, and Mandie Left-back. For our wings we’ll have Weasel and Manderly; how ‘bout Weasel with Don and you can go with Mandie.” He pointed to Wylla before looking back down at his clipboard, scribbling something out with his pencil. “Beth and Mira, go midfielders; you two can work out a plan by yourselves and for our strikers we’ll have Julie and Lyanna. That leaves Arya, Gemma and Willow off. Alright ladies, it’s great to see the whole team here so let’s have a good, clean game and try for a victory.”

They all let out a whoop once he finished his short pre-game speech, before doing a few quick-easy drills, signing the match sheet and whipping on their kit shirts. All the girls whipped of their shirts right in front of everyone, showing off their expensive, cute sports bra’s or their really nice bra’s that would offer no support whatsoever when running (cough, Willow, cough). Arya, on the other hand, wasn;t so keen on exposing her scars, especially with Gendry chatting on with the girls as if this was normal. It would only lead to questions – questions she wouldn’t want to answer. Wylla easily noticed this while she pulled the kit-shirt over her black singlet. She gave her a strange look but shrugged and didn’t question it.

The referee came over, assessed their sprig-boots and warned them about behaviour and all that. Then the whistle was sounded in the wind and both teams ran down the side. Cats’ in Grey, with black socks that had a white cat face stitched into the fabric, and the Dreadfort with their pink kits. There was no pleasantries exchanged between the two teams, just glares and hard stares while the ref warned them about behaviour for a second time. Since they were the away team they got the toss, landing on heads which gave us the choice.

The ref once more wished us good luck, the linesmen took their posts and Arya and Willow made their way to the bench while the other team kicked off. The season had _officially_ begun!

And while watching the game, Arya found that everyone’s remarks about the Dreadfort’s dirty tactics were not wrong. Just in the first minute was a woman pulled up for a bad tackle against Mira. But even despite their dirty nature, they were currently playing a _lot_ better than the Cats’. They were sloppy, almost like they hadn’t a clue what to do. It was frustrating from the bench and she found herself screaming at her own team, hoping that they’d open their ears and listen.

It didn’t help with Willow beside her, babbling to Gendry and complimenting him, paying the game no mind while she desperately tried to get his attention focused on her. Arya was ready to knock her out. This went on for fifteen minutes of sloppy play, endless chatter and the snide remarks from the other team that she could hear from here. It wasn’t good.

Gendry finally called for a sub when the ball was down their end, swapping Willow for Donnie who was busting her butt off at the back and Beth for Arya. She jogged on the field, instincts kicking in as she found a space in the middle. Mira was already at the right, ready for the throw-in that Weasel would deliver. Someone was already on her toes, a bug brute of a woman with a snarl plastered to her face.

Suddenly the ball was thrown and Arya was back in her past, playing the game she used to love and worship. She could hear her father cheering for her in the back of her head, Jon giving advice whenever she’d jump on her toes as the ball loomed closer. She’d hear Robb rub her head and claim that she should’ve played Rugby instead and she could see Rickon, desperately trying to get out of Bran’s hold and join the team.

Jockeying once the woman reached her, she refused to back down and ended up winning the ball by kicking it straight through her legs. She chased after it, looking up and finding open space. While her teammates called out her name, vying for her attention she ignored them and shot the ball to Wylla who then proceeded to run it down the line. Arya shot off past the players, weaving her way through and planting herself outside the eighteen yard box, ready for Weasel’s cross-in.

Just when the ball landed in front of her, she jutted out her right foot and the ball zoomed in front of Lyanna getting a perfect, clear shot as the defenders failed around them.

Lyanna hit it, striking hard; too hard and the ball went over the crossbar.

“Nice try Lya.” Arya said, patting her back before dropping back to ready herself for the goal kick.

“NICE PLAY, GIRLS! EXCELLENT!”

The play went on with Gendry making another sub, and now Arya was working with Beth. With only ten minutes to go for the first-half they were struggling. Everyone desperately wanted a drink and the opposition truly were ruthless, throwing in elbows in places that really, _really_ hurt. Wylla narrowly missed a Yellow when she swore at some smirking lady for a bad tackle. It was extremely tiresome.

Arya defended, she attacked and she chased the ball down like a cat chased a mouse. Ultimately, it was a bad pass that ruined them all. No one could blame Beth shit happens. And how _shit_ it was when the opposition scored from inside the box, Erena’s keeping skills unmatched for the excellent top-right corner that flew into the net, hitting its target.

A minute later the whistle was blown and the Cats’ walked off looking broken down and exhausted.

“Let’s just forfeit.” Wylla said while everyone agreed, sucking out of their water bottles. Gendry shook his head at them and sighed.

“Listen to me: you’re playing really well out there, okay, but I know you can do better. It’s a bit sloppy at the moment, and I’d like to clean that up; however, that being said, the first game is never going to be smooth or easy – it’s all about easing into this the best we can. Arya and Wylla you pulled some great plays out there, Lyanna lovely work as always. The back line, without you we’d be fucked so thank you for that and Erena you’re pulling some amazing saves out there! Don’t feel dejected by that goal, even the best of the best couldn’t have saved that!”

“Focus on your passes and remember you have time. Talk to each other, _communicate!_ ” They all nodded their heads, and awaited the whistle to be blown to signal second half. During that time she was met with an interesting surprise.

“You’re killing it out there!”

“Bran! You never told me you were coming?”

“I thought about it, debating for a while but then I wanted to see you play. Like old times. Dad would be super proud you know.” She smiled at this, hugging her brother with affection.

“Gods, you’re all gross and sweaty. I love you Ar but—” He stopped talking, realising just how much his comment affected her and wrapped his arms around her. “He loved watching you play. You were his star footballer.”

The ref blew his whistle and she reluctantly let go of her brother, stepping away from him and taking her place on the field. They kicked off and Arya was instantly thrown into play, receiving the ball off Julie. She had time so she decided to draw out the players before shooting off to Beth. The defenders were good, firing at Beth with ferocity. She pulled off a turn and passed it to Don who quickly shot it off to Arya again. Seeing the space, as well as Lyanna running to the box just about to go offside she made a quick decision and planted her body above the ball, leaning into the kick and smashing down the field.

Her ball hit the target, Lyanna gained possession and this time her shot made it past the goalkeeper. The team cheered, finally getting their equalizer and their spirits instantly lifted. She looked at Bran, cheering and clapping shouting out and she was instantly hit with nostalgia. He looked so like her father from this distance, even though he didn’t inherit the Northern look. The happiness inside her suddenly drained.

The opposition kicked off, getting rougher and making fouls here and there. It wasn’t long before the first Yellow was pulled on number eight who nearly broke Gemma’s arm with her dodgy slide-tackle. Arya, however, found herself off her game. Her passes were sloppy, she found herself standing still as the ball rolled past her and the not-so-happy memories kicked in whenever she glanced at Bran and his now-worried expression.

It wasn’t long before she was taken off again, right for the last ten minutes. She couldn’t help but be angry for how she played. Gendry clapped her on the back, telling her she played well. _Lying through his teeth._

The next goal game right at the last minute, which did cheer up Arya and made her cheer for her team as the players shook hands. She congratulated the girls, listened to their retelling of nasty girls and the shite they said and happily laughed at Gendry’s terrible post-game speech. She said goodbye to Bran, helped pack up the nets and offered to take the kits.

“Lazy work out there, Manderly!” Gendry teased as Wylla hopped in the car, shooting him a glare and flipping him the bird.

“Shit coaching, Waters!” She replied before starting up her car, winding up the window and driving away with the dust kicking off behind her.

“You played well, Arya.” He said, turning to her. “Truly.” She shrugged, and shook her head.

“It wasn’t my best. I was distracted.”

“It was our first game in eight years, of course it wasn’t your best. You made some great plays, Seven Hells, you set up one good bloody goal. Most of your passes were accurate and you always though strategically and used your time. Yes, I do believe you can do better but for a first game you did well. Don’t beat yourself about it. Be happy we won.”

“I am happy.” She replied.

“Good. Now go home, take a long shower and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow night for training.” She groaned while he chuckled. “And don’t be late!”

She smiled up at him. “Yes coach!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soz 4 the long wait. 
> 
> It's holidays and I'm pre-writing YAY. Hopefully I'll keep to the weekly schedule.   
> Enjoy!

**Chapter Four  
** **The Article**

 

In the long, eight year break from football, Arya had forgotten a few things. One of them was to warm down after a game.

“Afternoon – _Gods, you look awful!”_

        Note-to-self: _Always warm down!_

“Thanks, Aegon. You really know how to boost a girl’s confidence.” If she’d known this was the reaction she’d get, Arya wouldn’t have stepped into his office at all.

“Sorry – I really didn’t mean it like that… Uh, you just look tired is all…” He began awkwardly, cheeks tinting pink while he rubbed his neck nervously. At this point, Arya felt downright envious that he didn’t look like a total potato when he flushed with embarrassment.

“That’s because I _am_ tired. And everything hurts…” She whimpered, easing into the desk chair. She groaned once seated, and slumped to soothe her muscles.

“I never knew soccer was this rough.”

“ _It’s football._ And you look like you haven’t touched a sport since you were six. Perhaps you should jump on that.” He snorted at this.

“Are you implying that I’m out of shape, Stark?” She flushed as he tensed in his tight-fitted button-down, displaying _everything._

“Show off.” She muttered, however still thinking of his fit body. “So, are you going to tell me why I’m in here or am I going to sit here like a tart for the rest of the day?”

“I thought you’d be a little more enthusiastic considering I have your article.” He said with a sly smirk. She perked up in her seat, clutching the arms of the chair.

_“You do?”_

“I said I’d have it by Monday, didn’t I? Here, read over this,” He threw a folder in her direction, which she quickly caught before it smacked into her face, opening it up and scanning the pages while Aegon continued to talk. “Look, I know it’s not the best but… but I pulled some strings and this is the only thing Jaqen would give me.”

“Why does he hate me so much?” She had a pretty good idea, but some confirmations would be nice.  

“Well, ‘A girl did not sleep with a man, and a man is insulted.’” She snorted at this. “You royally pissed him off.”

“A girl does not want a man’s cock inside her.” She looked up from the pages and smirked seeing Aegon shyly looking at his hands. “It’s already been inside half the women in this damn office. Fucking Wendy can’t help herself when it comes to Jaqen.”

“How would your co-workers feel if they knew you were talking them down?”

“What would your superior do if he knew you were mocking him?” I quirked my eyebrow at him.

“Touché…” Arya laughed and turned the page, scanning over the thick bold lettering. And then she stilled and her smile dropped.

_To whomever this may concern at B &W Publishing, _

_I’d like to bring a particular issue that has occurred for the past month._  

_I am a concerned citizen here in Winterfell – which has been my home since birth – and have been talking to other citizens all of different backgrounds, age and gender. Together, we agree upon one thing:_

_The Weirwood tree must NOT be ripped of its roots._

_Recently, the council has released an official statement to tear down ‘the Heart Tree’ by the end of January next year. A petition has been set up with over fifty signatures to stop this from happening, but as it happens we need more. A LOT MORE!_

_This is why I’ve brought this to your attention and wish to place an advertisement in your paper to gain more attention around Winterfell. I am only looking out for the community’s best interest, and wish for the Weirwood to stay where it belongs and grow into another generation._

_Regards,_

_Nan Walters_

“Uh, Arya?” She looked up and found Aegon’s intense gaze focused on her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah it’s just…” She huffed out. “My dad used to take me and my brothers and sister to this tree. All the time, actually.”

“Great!” He exclaimed, beginning to pace. “This is great! You can add a personal feel to it.”

“Yeah. Great…” She said, frowning. “So where do we go with this.”

“Well, firstly you need to get in contact with this woman. Her details are on the next page or so. You’ll meet up and discuss the ad together and once that gains attraction, interviews will be in order!” He clapped his hands together, grinning.

“So this thing… It’s going to take time, right?”

“Yeah. Yes, _a lot of time._ You won’t be finished with this until the final article on the issue – which will either be after they destroy the tree _or_ the Council calls it all off.”

“ _Five months. This could potentially take five months?”_

“Yes, _potentially so._ ” Aegon finally stopped pacing and sat on the edge of his desk, facing her to give his attention. “Look, this could be quite big for you. You wanted to inspire, right?” She nodded her confirmation. “ _So inspire_. I think, with the enough time and dedication, you could leave this place and become quite a good journalist, Arya. Seven Hells, I believe you’d be good enough to join KL post—”

“—I hate politics.” She deadpanned.

“That’s beside the point but… _Look_ , you can be great, that’s what I’m trying to say. You won’t have to stay here for the rest of your life like some other unfortunates. But for that to happen, you have to ease into it. You’ll get big articles like this in a higher office, expecting it done in a month. This is best for you, and I really think you can do it.” She was stunned into silence, blinking up at him while he continued with that intense stare. “Really, Arya. _I do.”_

“Thank you, Aegon. Really.” She finally said, after a beat. He smiled at her, a real genuine smile that was so infections it had her smiling back. “Now go to your ‘ _football’_ training before your coach has you running laps.”

“Thanks Egg, I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.” She rushed out of her chair, despite her aching muscles, and waved him good bye from behind.

“You too.” He replied, raising his voice as she picked up her pace. “And no bloody yoga pants tomorrow!” She laughed, and instead of waving this time, she flipped him the finger.

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

She was still late to training, despite the quick rush outside, but so was Wylla so Arya at least had someone with her for the walk of shame. Or to put it better, the _laps_ of shame.

“Fucking bastard.” Wylla spat out as they rounded a corner of their first lap. “It was five bloody minutes, not five fucking hours! _And what right does he have to make us do five laps?”_ Arya just breathed in and out slowly, nodding her understanding rather than waste her oxygen.

“You get that article yet?”

“Yeah, right before. S’ why I’m late.”

“Oh fuck, congrats whore!”

“Cheers, Wylla. Really appreciate the derogative term.” She replied, laughing.

“No worries.” Wylla grinned at her.

“Ladies!” Gendry called out from across the field. “Less talking, more running!” Wylla flipped him off before they rounded another corner.

“I really hate the bastard. Truly, I do…” Arya laughed and slowed down to Wylla’s pace for a quick chat.

“So, about Gendry?”

“ _Yes?”_ She replied with a smirk. “What about Gendry?”

“Does he have something against alcohol?” The smirk was quick to disappear after that. “I don’t know; it was just… Well, yesterday we were talking about Friday night and he seemed distant and annoyed. Maybe it was just because it was game day—”

“—His dad was a massive alcoholic.” For a moment, Arya stopped running. “I don’t know much of the details, just that he was a drunken prick who occasionally beat Gen’s mum. And sometimes—well, sometimes Gendry too.”

“Gods.” She hushed out quietly, slowing her pace even more.

“Yeah, it’s pretty awful. He rarely drinks and if he’s drunk it usually means he’s had a really, _really_ bad day.”

“Alright you two, come join the team!” _Speaking of the devil._

 “Arya, do me a favour and don’t mention this to him. _Please?”_

“Of course. I never planned to.”

“It’s just… well, he doesn’t tell many people about this. It’s personal, yeah?”

“Hurry your arses over here now!” He yelled out one more time. They followed his directions and began their walk over to the team to finish off their training.

“I won’t tell a soul.”

“Alright; gather ‘round, gather ‘round.” Gendry hauled them all in, making an oval shape as they huddled in close.

“Of _course_ Willow’s right next to him.” Wylla sneered out in hushed tones, right before they joined the oval.

“Alright, now let’s discuss the big win from yesterday, huh?” Everyone groaned. “Why don’t we sound more enthusiastic?”

“You’re right Gen, let’s go to the Peach and Cele-fuckin-brate!”

“I have to say I agree with Wylla and that hardly _ever_ happens.”

“Hey look at that; Tarth _actually_ thinks my idea is rational!” She beamed with pride but Gendry was quick to cut in.

“No one is going to the Peach. Now, first we need to sort out our one, two, three’s. Pass around a pen and Brienne can have the honour of passing out the slips.”

“Gods, how prestigious.” Brienne rolled her eyes but obliged nonetheless.

“So I wrote some stuff down at the game yesterday and last night came up with a few strategies. So listen up because it’s vital!”

“Do you ever sleep?” Weasel asked as she handed Arya the pen.

“I live, eat and breath football!”

“Wow. And just when I thought I couldn’t think you _any_ more of a twat. You’re probably one of those pricks who doesn’t like the FIFA games because they’re unconventional or some bullshit!”

” Actually, no, I love the FIFA games and just got FIFA 17 the other day so you’re wrong there Manderly.”

“Are you actually going to get to the point or shall I just go home and get back to the Bachelorette.” Arya finally piped in, hip jutted out and hand resting firmly on it.

“You watch that trash?” He asked with disgust.

“Gods, Arya, I thought you’d have more taste than that.” Brienne intervened.

“Ah, someone _finally_ agrees.”

“ _Pregnant_ _at_ _Sixteen_ is the way to go. Or _Teen_ _Mum,_ since they’re basically the same thing.” His cocky smile disappeared instantly. There were hums of agreement from most girls. Gendry, however, looked like he was ready to cry.

“Okay, okay, now can we _please_ stop talking about shitty television?” He looked left to right, scanning each and every face before slowly huffing out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He continued. “Now, there are three things we need to work on. Our passes, our corners and most importantly our communication. You _need_ to fucking talk if you want to get the goals. _Understand?_

“Look, I know it was the first game, and it was a good first game, believe me. But these three things that we’re are missing are vital to the ‘game of football’.”

“So, what’s the plan Gen?” Erena asked, hands on hips. “Where do I fit into all this?”

“You need to direct, ‘Rena. All you defender’s do. Talk! communicate to your forwards, send them here,” He gestured to the left. “Send them there.” To the right now. _“Remember your triangles, girls!”_

“Triangles?”

“Fuck, Manderly, this is Fourth-Division stuff. Seven Hells, the Under-sixteens girls know their triangles!”

“If we continue to pass the ball in a triangular shape, it usually gets us up at the goal.” Brienne explained.

“Basically, we weave through all their defenders.” Arya added while moving her hand back and forth like a fish. “Understand?”

“Lastly, our corners are just a fucking mess. I don’t know what was going on with them but they were…”

“Embarrassing.” Don’ added with a frown.

“Yes, downright mortifying. So before we do _anything_ else with shots and ball skill drills, we’re going to rectify those three points first. It may take some work and more than just one training session for this to all gel and come together, but we’ll get there.” He clapped his hands together, grinning. “Alright ladies, hand me your paper’s and one more lap ‘round the field for a quick warm up. And stretch afterwards!” They all groaned in unison. “You’ll thank me when you’re not feeling sore and sorry for yourself tomorrow.”

“Don’t flatter yourself Waters, I’m always feeling sore and sorry for myself.” Wylla muttered while glaring at him.

“That’s depressing. _A lap will cheer you up!”_ He clapped his hands another time, a great big grin plastered to his face the sadistic bastard. “Come on girls, get into it!”

It was a hard training session that followed. There was blood, sweat and tears (literally. Wylla was crying _tears of joy_ when training finally ended). But in the end, it was all worth it. They established a corner taker: Mira Forrester, Arya’s fellow Midfielder. And from there, they began the process of perfecting the play.

Mira would kick it out to the left _or_ right wing, depending on which side, the wing would kick it back, Mira would strike it to the middled for some lucky individual to head or volley it into the back of the net (or unlucky individual if you count Beth Cassel’s near concussion from Mira’s boot).

Then there was another play, where Mira would cross it in straight to the middle which would hopefully find a player’s foot or head.

And last but not least, Mira tried to get it in the net from her corner, which she successfully did after the tenth go. It was a work in progress thing. Eventually, they’d have it down pat.

Afterword’s, they had a small game and divided up the team where they worked on communicating with each other on field – _which is a lot harder than it sounds –_ and using the triangle system. It worked, but for the other team, not Arya’s.

And that was it. An hour and half gone and in the past; the torture was finally over.

“Was Wylla crying?” Arya was crouched down in the grass, pulling the pegs from the ground to unpin the net free. She looked behind her where his large figure stood.

“She was sobbing like a baby.” She confirmed with a smirk.

“Maybe I was too rough on you girls tonight.” He began unhooking the net from its pegs on the goalpost.

“Nah, she’s just a bit of a sook really.”

“You do realise this is Wylla Manderly you’re talking about?” She shrugged in reply. “It’s like you want to get hurt.”

“It’s not like she can hear me.”

“She has her ways.” He said softly.

“Her ways?” Arya asked, slowly getting up to her feet. “You’re not going to tell her, are you Waters? Because if you do; _you’re the one who’s going to get hurt.”_ She said menacingly, squaring up to him while he merely looked down at her in amusement. And then he burst into laughter.

“Those soft little things?” He hooted. “You’re too small to beat anyone up.” She glared up at him. “And cute.” He hushed out softly, making her gasp and aiming to slap him on the shoulder. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, gently though, and smiled down at her during the whole process. Her breath caught in her throat as she realised just _how_ close they were.

And then the lights went out, and the only thing Arya could see was Gendry’s blue eyes blinking in confusion. “What the— “He let go of her wrist, turning to where the switchbox was.

“Donnie must have turned it off.”

“Must have.” He repeated before turning back to her. “Can you see alright? I don’t want the star-player of the team tripping and injuring herself.” She snorted at this.

“Star-player? I’m _hardly_ the star player. I mean, Erena is a fucking genius a keeping and Willow has an amazing boot on her. Donnie is more fit than half the team and she’s, what, fifty? Brienne is just all-round perfect—“

“—Arya, you’re just as good as them. For a person who hasn’t played the game in eight years, you kept up well. _Trust me.”_

_“Really?”_

“Really.” He confirmed. “Like I said, it was a good first game, and I mean from everyone. The whole team put some effort in and it showed in the results.”

“Sorry. I know I’m being a pain by worrying so much but… well, it kind of feels new in a way. It’s just been so long and I can’t help but feel like I’m not playing to my potential.”

“You’re not – _but the others aren’t either.”_ He gave her a soft smile which she shyly returned back. “Give it time, Arya, and you’ll be up with the best of the best.” Her smiled widened.

_“I’ll be the very best there_ _ever was!”_ He groaned out her loud and chipper exclamation, giving her a look of disgust.

“If I hear another damn Pokémon-related-sentence come out of your mouth, I’ll bench you for the next two games.”

“Maybe that’s what I want?” She replied in an amused tone, all the while she walked backwards in the direction of her car.

“Alright. You’ve got a Friday night game coming up this week; the other girls will gratefully appreciate you warming up their bench.”

“Good. It’s all set then. Goodnight, Gendry.”

“G’night Stark.” He replied back, opening the latch to his Triton for the net of balls. “And don’t be late Wednesday, okay? Or I’ll double the laps you did today.”

This time, she took a page from Wylla’s book and very elegantly flicked up her middle finger in his direction.

       

**Text to: Gendry**  
        _I’ll show up whenever the fuck I want  
        :))_

_Classy, Arya._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FangirlFiona, you the real MVP!

**Chapter Five  
** **Nan Walters**

 

 _“So I have news.”_  Arya said as soon as her mother’s questioning ‘hello’ had come through the receiver. She held the device in the crook of her neck nudged in-between her shoulder while she poured herself a glass of red. After the frantic Tuesday she’d had, chasing down – _or rather constantly ringing –_ Nan Walters, she deserved it.

“Oh Gods Arya, you’re not pregnant, are you?” The cackling she could hear in the background could only belong to her little brother.

“Um, no.” She denied immediately in an irate tone. “I can’t believe you’d think that!”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry.” Her mother began. “It’s just that – _well, you’ve always been a little reckless.”_

“Well, believe me, there’s absolutely no chance of me being pregnant now _or_ in the near future.”

“I’m sorry dear, I just worry is all. There’s all these social media apps now, you know? Sansa’s setting me up a _Mockingbird_ account.” Arya’s eyes widened at this.

“Um, no. That’s definitely not happening.”

“Why not?” Her mother asked, completely oblivious despite apparently knowing these ‘social media apps’.

“Well, unless you want to mortify your seventeen-year-old son by bringing some seed home who is looking for something purely sexual, go ahead.”

_“Sansa said it was like E-Harmony.”_

“Sorry to break the news.” Arya sighed and took a deep sip from her wine. “There’s thousands of stories online about how bad some ‘dates’ were.”  

“I can’t believe she’d do such a thing. How _could_ she do such a thing?”

“She wouldn’t have gone through with it, mum. However, I will take great pleasure in lecturing her for you.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll take pleasure in doing that myself.” Arya chuckled and settled down into her couch, wrapping the woollen blanket around herself. “So what’s this news then? Do you have a boyfriend? Is that it?”

 _“—She’s a lesbian!”_ Arya, once again, heard in the background.

“Bugger off, Rickon!” Her mother’s irate tone came through as well as the laughter that belonged to her brother. _“Sorry, sweetheart, go on?”_

“Just a sec – _why is it that all my news involves a sexual relationship of some sort.”_

“Well, Brojen’s wedding was just so lovely and nice that I hope for another one soon.”

_“—Did you just say Brojen?”_

“And Sansa’s was just as gorgeous. The more weddings the better, I say.”

“You have a wedding coming up very soon that involves your son, _your firstborn might I add,_ and secondly, for me to get married that requires another human being that has actually taken interest in me. Sorry to break your heart like this, dear mother, but I won’t be getting married for a long, long time.”

“Oh that’s nonsense. You’ll be married before you know it, with beautiful grey-eyed babies that I’ll just have to spoil to—”

“— _I got an article.”_ She blurted out in the middle of her mother’s rambling, silence following after. “An actual, good article that requires decent work and effort.”

Her mother yelped with surprise after a beat after the words finally set in. Arya immediately had a grin on her face at the reaction, treating herself to another sip of wine. “Oh Arya, congratulations sweetheart!” She began excitedly. “What is it _? What’s it about? Tell me everything!”_

“Alright, alright calm down. It’s actually about the Heart Tree. You know, the giant Weirwood that dad would always take us to for a picnic—”

“­— _The tree that Bran fell off and nearly became a bloody paraplegic.”_ She grumbled out. “What about the stupid thing?”

“Stupid? Come one, mum, it’s sacred. Which is why some people are in an uproar over the council’s plans to cut it down.”

“I have half-a-mind to agree with them.”

“ _Mother!”_

“Sorry sweetheart, but I lost ten years of my life due to Bran’s fall and that’s unforgiveable in my eyes.” Arya rolled her eyes and finished off her glass, placing it on the floor beneath her. “So why do they want to tear it down?” She frowned.

“That’s a very good question.” Arya untucked her legs from her position and got up from the coach, rushing over to where the stack of papers lay on the table.

“Maybe it’s religious reasons.” Her mother offered as she furiously jotted down some notes.

“ _Maybe._ I’ll have to discuss it with Aegon tomorrow. _And this…”_ She picked up the contact page, squinting. “Nan Walters.”

_“Nan Walters?”_

“Yeah, the lady who sent for the advertisement in B&W. Why, you know her?” She asked, returning to her seat after topping up her wine.

“Yes, Arya, and so do you. _That’s Old Nan.”_

“Old Nan? It can’t be.” Arya protested. “The old bat must surely be dead by now.”

_“Arya.”_

“Sorry. I did love the hag but you have to admit that her methods were strange; she used to scare us all half to death with her stories. _Also, her pies were disgusting.”_

“I’m sure her name was Nan Walters. She was our neighbour for over twenty-years.”

“Remember what dad used to say,” Arya began with a smile, picking at the worn thread of her couch. “’ _She’ll outlast us all, Old Nan will…’”_ Arya’s mother chuckled warmly at the memory.

“It seems to be coming true.” There was a silent moment that passed over them both. _She’d certainly outlasted one of us,_ Arya thought glumly. She was quick to avoid _that_ conversation however, and changed the subject the second after.

“Alright, that’s enough about me; _what’s been going on in your life?”_

The chat with her mother lasted well over an hour, with Rickon occasionally slipping in rude comments here and there in the background. Her mother told Arya all about her new hobby with crafting and how she met a bunch of other women for a weekly craft session _(very boring)_ which pretty much consisted of small chatter here and there about cakes, tea and a quick gossip session about their own kids. She talked about the Kindergarten class she taught and all the little kids that made her laugh. Seven Hells, she even reluctantly admitted that she was _finally_ starting to see other people.

It was weird. And Arya hated herself for being so selfish – _but her mother and father belonged together._ But she pushed aside the selfish reasons and congratulated her mother, feigning happiness. But in reality, it was like a hard-struck ball to the belly; knocked down to the ground and gasping for air. It’d been nearly ten years, and still Arya couldn’t stomach the thought of her mother with someone else.

But she would get over it. If it made her mother happy, Arya would be happy; _and that was a fact._

She then told her mother all about football, and all about her team mates – especially Wylla and Weasel – and even talked some about Gendry. She listened dutifully, and added the ooh’s and the aah’s when they were needed, the giggles and the gasps too.

It was a good, much needed conversation. One that ended off on a high-note with her mother’s confession about Rickon: _he had a girlfriend._

“That girl has no idea what she’s in for.” Her mother sighed while Arya laughed and nodded her head in agreement (like her mother could see her). Apparently Rickon’s girlfriend was one of the good ones. “We’re thinking about coming up soon for a visit, perhaps in the holidays?”

“Oh, that’d be great!” Arya smiled. “Maybe you could come watch me play football again.”

“I’d love to. I’ll be sure to invite Shireen with us.” Her mother said coyly while she smirked at the thought. _Shireen… what a gorgeous name._

“She has to meet the rest of the pack.” Her mother laughed at this.

“Well, she’s dating the wildest wolf who is currently smitten.” Catelyn sighed dreamily. “I’m so proud of him for not being a prat and instead looking past her former-illness that left a great big scar on her face. She’s really gorgeous, Arya, even with the scar. She mightn’t think so but Rickon rouses on her for it.” Arya rolled his eyes.

“Greyscale, right?” Her mother hummed sympathetically while Arya grimaced. “Poor kid. _Even worse is that she’s inflicted with the Baratheon name.”_

“Ah, yes. We can’t seem to escape these damned Baratheon’s, can we? Although I hear she’s not very close with her family. And I mean including her parents. Her mother’s a religious bat and her fathers a workaholic who is apparently having an affair with _another_ religious bat.” She laughed at this. “And both women are in cahoots, so I hear.”

“Wow. And I thought our family was dysfunctional. Dear old Stannis must love his religious whores.”

 _“Arya!”_ Her mother reprimanded her, but she heard the amusement in her tone. “I guess there’s always talk about religious cults having strange… _desires.”_

“Gross.” She grimaced as her mother snorted before sighing.

“Alright sweetheart, I better go. Wednesday morning meetings are a hassle. I love you and I’m so, so, so proud of you for that article. I’ll be waiting to read it!”

“Alright mum, I’ll let you go. Love you too. _And thank you.”_

“Night sweetheart.”

“G’night.”

And with that Arya smiled and hung up the conversation, downed the last of her third wine (she was quite tipsy by now) and decided to watch just _one last episode_ before bed.

_Seriously Arya, just one more fucking episode!_

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

 _“Wow.”_ Arya said, glancing around the alleged place she was supposed to be meeting Nan Walters ( _aka Old Nan)._ Aegon raised his eyebrows at her, his usual serious mask plastered to his face. It was one of those ‘hipster’ café’s that did everything _and_ anything vegan, with kale smoothies and art so strange it somehow made Arya question her sexuality. “This is interesting…”

Aegon rolled his eyes at her and lead the way, weaving through some distressed customers who were in a long line for food. They sat at small table for four right in the corner of the shop, next to the big window that gave them a healthy view of pedestrians, cars and nature.

“I never knew you were a hipster?” She broke the silence with a grin, and watched as his formal expression died and transformed into a sneer.

“I’m not a hipster!” He immediately went defensive.

 _“Sure._ And I _don’t_ secretly indulge in too much wine every night _.”_ He grimaced at her sarcasm.

“You’re an alcoholic.”

“You voluntarily drink kale smoothies.” She arched her brow as her smirk widened, watching him get more flustered as the conversation continued.

“No, I—”

“Aegon!” They both turned to glance at the intruder, and Arya found herself looking at a very cute, petite girl in her early-twenties who was clearly of Dornish-descent. She was gorgeous, and despite her rich olive-toned skin Arya could spot the blush that spread from her cheeks and disappeared down to her chest behind the barista’s apron. “It’s been a while since I last seen you here.” The pretty girl giggled out, or rather _‘Nina’_ printed on her name badge.

“Afternoon, Nina.” Aegon replied shyly, accompanying the greeting with a slight wave of two fingers pressed together before offering his explanation. “It’s been a busy few months.” He cleared his throat and turned to look at Arya, who was grinning like a fool at the slightly awkward exchange. “Uh, Nina, this is my colleague Arya. We’re sort of doing an interview today; _you know, for the paper…”_  Nina’s eyes widened.

“Oh, shoot! Sorry, I’ll stay out of your way then!” She turned on her heel to quickly leave, but was facing them again in an instant, blush still intact. “Oh! Coffees? Food? I forgot to ask, I’m so sorry!”

 _“_ Uh, just a standard cappuccino will do me.” Arya quickly answered before the girl went anymore red. “On full cream milk, please, and one sugar. _That would be lovely.”_  She nodded vigorously and was quick to jot it down on notepad.

“And you?” she turned to Aegon with a small smile.

“Just the usual please, Nina. _Thank you.”_

“Great. Any food or…”

“I think we’ll be fine, thank you.” She replied politely while Aegon shrugged hopelessly.

“I’ll be back in a bit with your coffees.” Nina said with a toothy grin, walking off quickly back behind the counter and began the long list of coffees. Arya turned to him with a smirk and watched him pale.

_“No—”_

“She’s cute.” Arya said, chin in hands and elbows resting on the table. _“I think she likes you.”_

“Stop. Please.” He begged, grimacing. “She— _she’s insipid and childish and much too young.”_ Arya rolled her eyes at this. “And besides: _I_ already like someone else.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows at this. “Who’s the lucky girl. _Is it Wendy?”_ He scoffed at this.

“You know, given by how many times you’ve brought Wendy up I’m beginning to think _you_ like her.” 

“You’re treading on some thin ice, Egg.”

“Don’t act all mighty and innocent in this, Stark…” He trailed off, looking toward the entrance. “That’s not her, is it?” He asked, watching the old strong-minded woman marching to the counter, _cutting_ the line. She was dressed head-to-toe in yellow. _Same Old Nan._

One of the employees pointed her in the direction of our table and Aegon visibly paled.

“Oh, Seven Hells. We’ve got a nutter.”

“Hey! That’s my neighbour you’re talking about.”

“Excuse you, but I do recall you calling her a ‘wild one’ on the phone.” Arya rolled her eyes before plastering on a big grin as the old woman approached.

“Nan Walters?” Aegon rose from his seat as the old woman sniffed, hand outstretched for a greeting. “I’m Aegon Targaryen, Managing Editor of Black and White Post. Old Nan ignored his hand and focused on Arya. “Uhh, this is my colleague—”

“ _Arya Underfoot.”_ She interrupted. “Yes, I remember you. I do hope you aren’t running around with any more butcher boys’.”

“Nope. No boys at all.”

“I should hope so. I always wanted you to follow in your ‘Old Nan’s’ footsteps and become the spinster.”

Aegon was quick to pull out the chair for Nan Walter’s to sit in, who sniffed again (she _obviously_ liked her potent floral perfume too much) and folded her hands in her lap.

“So you received my letter, then?”

“Sure did.” Arya answered brightly. “It definitely brought up memories – some bad, some good.” Old Nan scowled and bitterly shook her head.

“The amount of bloody times I warned that boy of climbing, the many stories I’d tell him. That thickhead is lucky to be alive after that fall.” Aegon cleared his throat.

“Uh, Miss Walter’s –”

“Now, now, mister, it’s either Nan or Old Nan, not this ruddy _Miss Walter’s_ business. You make me sound like an old maid.”

“Right.” He nodded, clearing his throat once more. “Well, we set up this interview to go more in depth with your letter.” Aegon opened his mouth to speak again but they were once more interrupted by Coffee-Girl-Nina.

“The standard cappuccino and the tall long black?”

“Thanks, Nina.” He replied as Arya grinned brightly up at the girl,

“Is there anything else I can get you,” She turned to Nan.

“By the Gods, these workers get younger every minute.” The old lady barked out, looking Nina up and down with awe. “This one’s still a foetus!”

Aegon put his head in his hands as Arya silently begged not to laugh. Nina, however, turned bright red and strolled off without a second thought. Old Nan had always came off that way;rude without a social filter – and, technically, it was true, only it was unintentional. She was simply just old and brash and brutally honest; she told the world what was on her mind and certainly didn’t care for the opinions’ that were thrown her way. Arya couldn’t help but admire her for it.

“Old Nan, you mind if we ask you a couple questions concerning your letter?” She was the one to break the tension before blowing on her coffee and taking a cautious sip.

“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” She snapped.

“Right. Yes.” Aegon stuttered as she rolled her eyes.

“First of all, we should ask why you’re not in favour of cutting the tree down.” Arya took charge.

“Well it’s a religious symbol of the Old Gods, the religion that still takes up most of the North. The Weirwoods are few and far between, sacred monuments older than time itself.” The old woman croaked. “For as long as I’ve breathed on this earth, I’ve watched that Weirwood by the black pools, right in the heart of Winterfell, grow stronger as I’ve grown more frail.”

Arya furiously scribbled down onto her notepad, tongue peeking out from the side of her mouth as Aegon made a note here and there.

”It breaths out tranquillity and sentimental value. A tree of hope, and above all, a tree of mystery, inspiring the strangest stories. You’d know that better than anyone, Miss Stark.”

Arya smiled in return, sneaking in a sip of her coffee before moving forward.

“Could you describe the tree for us?”

“You bloody well know what the tree looks like, your father took you lot ‘round there all the bloody time.”

“This is just for the interviewee’s perception. Any person can perceive something completely different than another.” Aegon spoke calmly.

“Well, it looks like any other Weirwood I’ve come across. Strong and tall, red leaves stark against it’s pale-white branches. And a face, carved in by the Children of the Forest at the dawn of time, eyes leaking red sap. ‘Blood of the Gods’, my father said often.”

Arya watched Aegon swallow thickly. He was a non-believer; anyone who spoke of religion and the mysterious tales that came with it (dragons and such) was a fool. Everything was simple in his eyes. All the modern-world owed gratitude towards was science and the magic of creativity and invention.

“Right. Can you tell us what the tree means to you?”

“Like I said before, Weirwoods’ are rare to come across. The south cut them down years ago, long before my time, and only a few remain in the North. Such old antiques of time should be preserved until Earth breaths it’s last breath. And it is of sacred belief belonging to the Old Gods, but above all, it was always an escape to me when I was young. When the wars raged on, it was a place to pray; the tragic death of my mother, a place to mourn; when times were tough, a place to reflect. It holds memories like no other. Many a Northerner in Winterfell would know that like no other.”

“And how do you perceive the council’s decision.”

“Well, most would _agree_ that a memorial for all the forgotten Northern soldiers in the _Winter’s War_ has been long overdue. But to tear down a tree, The _Heart_ Tree, a sentimental object that helped so many people deal with their losses, the tree of the soul religion here in the North. Now _that_ would be cruel.

“Anyone one with any sense can see that the Mayor is only looking out for his own needs and wants. With the memorial comes a new hotel – another place to launder his wads of cash, I’m sure of it.”

“Do you have any proof to this accusation?”

“I have my gut.” Old Nan sniffed again and held her head high as Aegon sighed.

“Just one more question.” Arya asked. “How do you plan on preventing this?”

“With the petition I started up at the beginning of all this.” She answered honestly.

“Only you _need_ more than 50 signatures.” Arya breathed out.

“Yes. That is why I’m begging you, now – _please advertise this all with my petition._ It is the _only_ way.”

“Of course. Thank you for your time today, Old Nan, you’ve been a massive help.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Miss Stark. It’s good to catch up on old faces.” She then turned to Aegon. “I believe we’ll be in contact?”

Arya was quick jot down her number on her notepad and roughly rip it out. “Here is my personal number. Call anytime you feel like the article needs more information.”

Old Nan thanked the two, adding one more comment before strolling off. “If there is a next time I hope you’ll take me to a pub, not this rubbish greenery shite.”

As Arya finished up on her notes Aegon groaned. “You never told me your neighbour was difficult.”

“I guess at some point I got used to it.” She shrugged. “Ready to go?”

He nodded and they both went off to pay for the coffees. She _glared_ at him fiercely when she discovered her coffee had already been payed for.

“I’m not your _bloody_ girlfriend?”

“No?” He asked, teasingly. “Then why do you nag at me like one. _Aegon do this, Aegon do that, don’t talk to ‘Fucking Wendy’ Aegon.”_

“Don’t start me, Egg-head.”

“Oh please, you love it. Don’t lie Stark, you _faaaaaaancy_ me.” But even with his playful tone it had suddenly turned serious – almost hopeful. She couldn’t help but flush the tiniest bit.

 _Arya?”_ She tore her eyes away from Aegon’s mystical purple eyes, to Gendry’s striking blue orbs. “I didn’t strike you the type to visit a place like this.”

“Same goes for you, Waters.” She replied playfully, watching as his eyes casually flicked from Aegon to her, a slight furrow coming to his brow. “Actually, I was just here for work, doing an interview for the paper. Aegon here is my boss – he’s kind of a prick, so do his ego a favour and ignore him.” Her lame joke didn’t ease the strange tension at all as the two men continued to stare at each other with blank faces. Arya fidgeted.

“I’ll see you out front, Ar’.” Aegon brushed her arm, a gesture that lingered a _little_ too long to go unnoticed, and weaved his way through tables and people alike.

_Well that wasn’t awkward at all…_

“Weasel told me about your article.” Her eyes flicked back to the tall, dark haired man. “I wouldn’t have been so harsh at training if you’d just mentioned it to me, you know.” He teased as she rolled her eyes.

“Well where football’s concerned, you don’t draw a breath long enough for anyone to talk at all.” She grinned at him. “So, what are _you_ doing here, huh?”

“Is it really so hard to imagine me eating a Veggie Burger with fresh juice while enjoying complex art?” He laughed as she glared at him. “I’m just a delivery boy.” He finally admitted.

“A delivery boy?”

“I’m a butcher, you see. I don’t usually deliver but my good mate owns the place and he’s helped me out a couple times down the road. I owe it to him, you know.”

Arya almost laughed out loud, remembering Old Nan’s comment about butcher boy’s. 

“I’ve always wondered what you do. I must say, though, I expected you as a lumberjack, all in flannel.” He gasped.

“How dare you accuse me of ridding the lifeforms that bring us oxygen!” They both chuckled at the relevance of it all.

“So, Stark, will I see you at training tonight.” She groaned.

“Please don’t hate me.”

“Come on.” He pleaded. “It’s fitness tonight. I planned a great session for Sunday’s game, you know.”

“All the more reason to skip it.” She replied cheekily as he nudged her hard. “I’m sorry, Gen, but I just don’t know. This is my _first_ real article So I’m kind of keen working on the interview tonight.” She gestured toward the notebook in her hand. “I just want to do a good job.”

“Well I can’t judge you there.” He sighed. smiling all the same. “I guess you’ll just have to pay for it next Monday.” She groaned once more.

“You’re cruel.”

“I know.”

“Later, arsehole.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart.” She retaliated by flipping him the bird, exiting the café with his grin etched into her mind.

“Ready to go?” Aegon interrupted her thoughts. She looked at him, serious face and all, so like Jon in many ways.

_Like a brother and nothing more._

The though popped up out of nowhere.

“Do you like Braavosi?” She blurted out.

“What?”

“Do you like Braavosi food?” She repeated once more. His face scrunched up.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really tried it, actually. Why do you ask?”

“Let’s get some after work.”

“Uh, okay…” He stuttered.

“I just, I’d like to go over notes tonight. Work on the article.”

“Yes?”

“This is me asking for help, stupid?” She huffed out.

“You could always just ask directly, with manners of course.”

“Shut it.” He laughed.

“Don’t you have training tonight, with your coach inside.” She nodded. “You two _seem_ close.”

“This is more important.” She answered after a time, trying her best to ignore the last comment.

He smiled at this, though – a smile she’d never seen cross his lips. He looked truly happy in this moment.

“I’d _love_ to, dearest.” She rolled her eyes. “Now let’s get back to work, I have _so fucking much_ to do.” He side-eyed her. “Like wiping Jaqen’s arse.”

“You heard that?” She cringed.

“Yep. All of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” A soft smile doted on his face as she grinned back at him.

“No. I’m really not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so, so, so sorry for taking forever. 
> 
> I suck, I know! Plz forgive me :(((
> 
> And thanks to FangirlFiona again for kicking my but into gear with this chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the second match for the Cats' and Wylla and Weasel continue to be pests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I am a lazy brat.  
> I finished half-yearly exams, tho, so I'm in the clear until yearly's come around. Forgive me with this long-ass chapter, I hope it is satisfying. I apologise for any blatant grammar mistakes, it's 2am and I'm desperate to get this out.
> 
> Comments reaaaally keep me going so if you like, write a short message and it'll always brighten my day.  
> Cheers!

**CHAPTER SIX  
** **THE MIGHTY MOTTES'**

 

Saturday dawned crisp as it headed deep into Autumn, with Arya bundling up more than usual for her morning run. As trees were stripped naked or barely with a leaf to its branch, the Weirwood stood strong and tall with its ever-red leaves perfectly intact. Arya studied her reflection in the black pools with Nymeria resting at her side until she’d caught a whiff of her brother and bounded off in a rush.

“It isn’t polite to drag your favourite brother’s butt out of bed this early on a Saturday morning.” His voice rumbled as he plopped himself down next to her. “What’s the emergency?”

She watched the Grey Wind and Nymeria tousle in the dewy grass before turning to her brother.

“It’s lovely to see you too, Robb.” He huffed and shoved her lightly.

“Man, I haven’t thought of this tree in years.” Robb sighed, staring up at it in awe.

“How could you?” She asked. “Bran nearly killed himself on it and Dad always took us here for ‘quiet time’.”

“Remember when Theon fell in the black pools in the middle of winter?” She laughed at this.

“He claimed his cock froze off it was that cold.”

“And Sansa always acted like it was a castle, begging me and Jon to play her stupid knight and villain.”

“Jon was _always_ the villain. Must’ve been the moody pout he always wore.”

“He was a right emotional prick, wasn’t he?” Robb asked in an amused tone.

“He still is from time to time.”

“So, how’s football?” He asked after a small beat passed. “Dominating like always, I assume.”

“Nah.” She smirked. “I’m a little rusty nowadays. I guess that’s what happens when you forego eight years of it.”

“I bet you still kick some arse, though. Scored any goals yet?”

“I’ve only played one game!” He shook his head.

“How disappointing.”

“Oh, please, you were the biggest disappointment when it came to football. You could barely kick a ball straight.”

“Honey, I was _born_ to play rugby.” He clicked his fingers with sass, earning a laugh from his sister. “Seriously, though, what’s the deal with this place?”

She sighed. “I need a slight favour.” The man groaned and fell back into the grass like he’d been mortally wounded.

“Fucking family.” He muttered jokingly. “All they want is favours from the favourite – the fucking King in the North!”

“Piss off.”

“Alright, what is it?” He replied, sitting up to glare at her. “What do you want with the great mighty Robb Stark who should be snuggled up alongside his beautiful fiancé at this current moment?”

“The council wants to cut down this tree – the mayor’s insisting on it.”

“So?” She smacked him.

“It’s a fucking sacred sight to the blood of our ancestors, Robb. We are Northerners’ are we not?”

“Yes. But you can’t actually tell me you believe all that wishy-washy nonsense that comes with these trees. I mean, what the actual fuck is a child of a forest? Is it, like, those talking trees on Lord of the Rings?”

“Ents.” She corrected. “Go on.”

“You are _such_ a nerd.” He muttered. “But really, Arya, you’re the most rational being of the Stark family other than myself. Do you really agree with the stories people tell about a fucking tree?”

“No.” She answered honestly. “But it’s kind of majestical to see a group of people so hopeful, something to look to when things go to shit. That’s pretty incredible, Robb.”

“It’s a bloody cult.”

“No, that _fire God_ is a bloody cult. This is sacred. Even those of Northern blood who _don’t_ believe in the Gods know this and wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. Remember Old Nan?” He nodded. “She looks up to the tree as a symbol of hope. It’s important to our culture, Robb, why can’t you see that?” he looked at her blankly for three seconds before loudly exhaling.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to set up an interview with the council, if you can. You have weird connections so I know you can at least try.”

“Alright, I’ll give it a shot. What’s it for?”

“An article!” She grinned at his expression.

“No fucking shit, Ar, they finally gave something decent then?” She nodded excitedly.

“I’d be happy to help, then.” He ruffled her hair. “But on one condition. You have to come to dinner on Monday. Myrcella insists.”

Arya’s smile faltered.

“Fuck.” She sighed out.

“I’m trying for you, you can try for me. The least you can do is try and get to know her.”

“It’s hard.”

“I know that—”

“No you don’t! You have _no_ idea.” He laughed at this.

“Seriously, Arya, I’m marrying the woman. I’ll have to put up with her fucking awful family for the rest of my life. Suck it up and push through it.”

He got up from the grass and brushed his pants off. “I’ll see you at half-six.”

He whistled and Grey Wind was on his heels in an instant, with Nymeria dragging her feet over to her owner.

“Well this is annoying, isn’t it Nym’s?”

She cocked her head.

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

“Brienne’s got a boyfriend!”

“Good morning to you too, Wylla.” Arya replied in a chirpy tone before turning to address the tall gorgeous woman flushing to her left. “How long have you kept him a secret?”

“A month, give or take, idiots.” Aly piped up, thrusting the kit into Arya’s arms. “Or haven’t you noticed her constant happy mood?”

“Our girl’s getting some good sex.”

“Uh, it’s long distance so we barely get to see each other let alone have _amazing_ sex.”

“ _Amazing_ , is it?” Mira asked cheekily. “I never said it was _amazing_?” Brienne blushed eve more, opening her mouth to protest before Wylla beat her to it.

“Gods, I haven’t had _amazing_ sex in months.” She sighed.

“Must be years for me.” Weasel grumbled.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had _amazing_ sex.”

Gendry cleared his throat as he walked past, dropping the net of balls and crate of bottled at our feet. “Isn’t it a bit early for this type of conversation.”

“Brienne’s got a boyfriend.” Wylla chirped again, smirking like a fool. “And it’s never too early for _amazing_ sex, Gen – or in Arya’s case, lack of…”

Gendry paused for a beat, pointedly looking at her. “Sorry to hear that.” He smirked, before setting off again, grumbling on about a ‘bloody match sheet’.

 “So, is he cute?” Arya asked, ignoring both Weasel’s and Wylla’s mischievous expressions.

“What’s his name?” Mira joined in.

“Does he have decent sized genitalia?”

“I’m not answering that.” Brienne replied flatly. “I’m a private person meaning my boyfriend is private.”

“Fine.” Wylla snapped stubbornly. “I’ll just stalk your Instagram.”

“I don’t have Instagram.”

“I won’t hesitate, Tarth. I will find out sooner or later – and when the time comes you best prepare yourself.”

“For what?” Brienne scoffed.

“You’ll see.”

“Alright, ladies, enough of the chit-chat. Everyone up on the bus.” He was quick to turn and single Arya, Weasel and Wylla with a grin. “Except for you three. You stay and load the bus.”

“What did we do?” They all piped up in unison.

“Well if that doesn’t explain it…” He muttered in awe. “You all talk too much and you two choose to associate with this green-haired goblin.”

“Excuse me?” Wylla grumbled as he gave them a cheery smile accompanied with a wave before stepping in after the girls. “Donnie’s driving so don’t be long and piss her off.”

“The nerve of that prick. And to think I thought of him as an _acquaintance_!”

“Such an endearing relationship.” Arya laughed at Weasel’s joke.

“Honestly, he’s such a twat _and_ a complete pussy and, seriously, what an absolute cun—”

“O-kaay, we get it, he’s a vagina.” Arya broke in as she shoved the kit into the storage.

“Is that it?” Weasel asked, searching around.

“This is the last of it.” Arya said, nodding to the crate of bottles in her hand. “Go and save me a seat so I don’t have to put up with this grumpy gremlin.”

Weasel laughed and was quick to push the angry woman up the bus, no doubt starting an argument as soon as Gendry was in sight. Arya sighed happily, sorting the last of the essentials before sealing the storage compartment tight and heading up the bus herself.

“Morning, Donnie.” Arya chirped warmly, sending the old-timer a toothy grin.

“Nice to see you all bright this early.” She smiled back. “Ready for the game?”

“I hope so.” She muttered before looking down the aisle, eyes landing on a particular pair seated together – and more importantly, _who_ was behind them. They were up the front; one grinning like a fool the other _more-or-less_ the same but with a guilty conscious.

“Weasel?” The Stark girl grumbles. “What the fuck? How _could_ you betray me like this?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Too slow, Stark. You shouldn’t underestimate your superiors.”

“It was all Wylla, Arya, I swear she made me do—”

“Weasel, you whore!”

 _“There’s a seat free here, Stark.”_ A deep voice spoke from behind the two bickering women who perked up at the sound of it. “Here,” He said kindly, standing up and taking the duffel bag from her loose grip and storing it above. “You should probably take the window seat, huh?” He chuckled and seemed _almost_ nervous as he reached behind and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

_Damn Wylla and her convoluted plans…_

The woman on mind peeked her head over with a smug expression.

“I will kick you!”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I’m sorry Arya.” Weasel added.

“No, you’re not, don’t lie.” Wylla returned, settling back into her seat as Gendry began to address the team.

“Alright ladies, for those of you who _aren’t_ checking the online draw,” He _pointedly_ glanced at Wylla. “We’re playing the Mighty Mottes’, today.”

“ _Deepwood Motte?”_ Lyanna questioned. “Isn’t that where Erena’s from?”

“She’s already there.” He answered. “Decided to make a little family vacation out of it.”

“For the few newcomers, the double M’s are quite strong in the defence but less-so up-front.” Brienne added with Gendry nodding at each word.

“Yes, and they don’t rely on dirty plays like the _dreadful_ Dreadfort’s.” Gendry smiled and clapped his hands together. “Now with that out of the way let’s get moving.”

The team let out a collective cheer as Donnie started the ignition, pulling onto the road.

“Have a good morning?” Arya turned away from the window once realising her coach was settling into the seat beside her.

“I don’t know.” She answered dryly. “I don’t really fancy waking up at seven on a Sunday, you know?”

“Try waking up at four every morning.” He grumbled.

“A woeful butcher’s life.”

“You’re too right.” He groaned, grabbing his bag from beneath the seat and protruding a notebook from it. “How goes the article?”

Arya watched him begin to draw up some plans before answering. “The council’s being a royal pain in my arse. They don’t _ever_ fucking reply.”

“The Government for you.” He scoffed.

“Um, no, I’m not going up front.” She grabbed the pencil from his hands and crossed out her name. “I’m not a Striker.”

“But you and Lyanna work so well together – you both have a natural understanding.” He ripped the pencil away from her grip, adding her name back again. “It’s kind of creepy.”

“Seriously, Gendry, I’ll trip over my own feet.”

“I _wouldn’t_ mind seeing that.” Wylla added cheekily, Arya brutally kicking her seat.

“I’m the coach; _deal with it.”_ He glanced at the sulking woman. “You’re not going to get salty on me, are you Stark?”

“Arya _likes_ salty.”

“Wylla, I swear to every _fucking_ religious God out there, I _will_ murder you – and that _isn’t_ an empty threat unlike all of Weasel’s.”

“Why was I even brought into this?”

“You broke your word.”

“Who did?” Brienne broke in, ever the _oath-keeper_.

“I don’t know, Tarth, why don’t you spill your man’s name and I may talk.”

“Seven Hells, Manderly, are you _really_ taking it there?”

“I’ll fucking turn this bus around, children!” Donnie yelled in good-taste.

“You women do my head in…” Gendry groaned into his hands as Arya plucked the notebook from his lap and devised her own plan. “Gods, you’re stubborn.”

“That’s much better, isn’t it?” She grinned at him, showing him the play.

“Fifteen minutes.” He pleaded. “Just give me fifteen minutes and I promise I’ll take you off and _never_ put you on Striker again.” She huffed at this and begrudgingly looked at him.

“Fine. _Fifteen minutes only –_ but _not_ right away, okay?” He grinned at her.

“Sounds good to me.” She rolled her eyes at his goofy grin, but turned away to conceal a small smile.  They were quiet for some time after that with Gendry going back to his plans and Arya texting back and forth with her cousin, smiling at the video of Ghost and Ygritte wrestling (all in good nature). It wasn’t until Gendry looked over her shoulder, thirty-minutes into the trip, did they speak again.

“Who’s Jon?”

“Her guaranteed shag, no matter the time.” His eyebrows rose into his hairline at Wylla’s supplied _false_ information.

“Seriously?” He asked softly, grimacing slightly.

“Ew, no, Gods – _what the fuck, Wylla?”_ She grouched out. “He’s my fucking cousin, you knob!” The two girls in front laughed manically. “ _I wish I had a guaranteed shag.”_ She muttered.

“What was that?” He asked with a smirk.

“Shut it!”

“I’m sure that boss of yours would take you up on that.” Arya gasped and turned to glare at him. “It’s just an observation.”

“Aegon? That’s _too_ weird to even think about?”

“Not for him, I think.” He said roughly.

_“You’re being stupid.”_

“Oh, please, he’s probably been mooning over you for years and you haven’t noticed.”

“It seriously _isn’t_ like that.” She snapped.

“I’m just saying.” Gendry raised his hands at her tone. “All you’d have to do is offer and he’d act like a dog in heat.”

“Well, _lucky for him,_ I won’t be offering anything like that anytime soon.”

“Lucky for him? What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She mumbled, turning away from his questioning gaze and out the window.

“Didn’t sound like nothing.” He hushed out. Arya _hoped_ that neither Wylla or Weasel were listening in on this particular heated conversation that had stemmed from nothing.

“Don’t worry about it.” It was silent, then, with nothing but the steady hum of the bus and the chatter inside it. “Just forget it!”

“I can’t just – _this is awkward, isn’t it?”_ He wore a sheepish expression.

“Little bit, yeah.”

“And I made it awkward huh?” He chuckled nervously. “I’m sorry, I was completely out of line just then.”

“Yeah, you were.” She agreed coldly. He extended an opened bag of lollies her way. She rolled her eyes. “You were being stupid.”

“I know.” He grinned as she plunged her hand into the bag, taking a handful of gummy bears. “Can you forgive me?”

“Not unless you take away that fifteen minutes of Striker.”

“Really? You’re bringing that up _again?”_ She nodded with a smirk. “Not a chance, Stark.”

“I’m known to hold a grudge.”

“I’ll work my way back into your good-books.” He replied smugly. “And who knows, maybe it’ll make you play better.”

“Good luck.” She teased, plugging her earphones into her ears to drown out the rest of the trip. It didn’t block out his warm, chest-heaving laugh, however.

The rest of the trip went swimmingly from there with Arya snoozing – _not sleeping, there’s a difference_ – in her seat, music blocking any noise and Gendry walking up and down the bus to gage a conversation with his players for a one-on-one session before the game. It was half-nine when they finally pulled up beside the Mighty Mottes’ fields. The double M’s were already there, pulling on their gear to get ready for the warm-up.

“Well they’re awfully organised, aren’t they?” Arya began, avoiding all eye-contact from a certain green haired lady.

“Did you _feel_ the sexual tension in there, Weasel?” she asked, right on Arya’s footsteps.

“It was suffocating.” The small woman replied.

“Please don’t.” She groaned.

“No!” Weasel snapped. “That went from casual conversation to a _heated-fucking-argument_ to flirting.”

“ _Flirting?”_

“Oh please, Gen was probably serving you ‘I would _love_ to have _amazing_ sex with you on this bus right now’ looks the whole time.”

“For fuck sake.” Arya muttered, increasing her pace.

“Oh please, me and Weasel were _literally_ holding our breath throughout those whole two minutes. It was fucking intense.”

“Okay, seriously, enough now!” She snapped. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“Quit denying your sexual attraction to him and admit your feelings.”

“I haven’t known the man much more than a month.”

“But—”

“Can we _please_ discuss this another time, preferably when I’m intoxicated?”

The two frowned but reluctantly agreed, re-joining the group to put on her shin-pads and boots, grab her shirt and escape to the bathroom before anyone could follow her. Most of the team ripped off their shirts, right then and there, but Arya didn’t want questions to arise if they caught a sight of the scar. No doubt the shame would return along with those conversations.

Erena had joined the group after Arya returned, looking very happy to be playing on the murky day.

Brienne sighed as the team began stretching. “Looks like rain is ahead of us.”

“Actually, it should miss us by a few minutes. I checked the radar.” Beth added before turning to Arya. “I had no idea Sansa got married, Arya. I only heard from my father a couple days ago.”

“Yeah, they tied the knot a few months ago.”

“ _And to Sandor Clegane—”_

“Wait, your sister is married to the fuckin’ Hound? The rugby player?” Wylla asked, eyes wide after nodding her head. “Oh man, that’s insane. Is he as terrifying as they say?” Arya rolled her eyes at this.

“He’s a big softie, actually. Especially with my sister – I’ve never seen him pamper anyone so much. He’s overly protective, though. He broke my ex-boyfriend’s arm ‘accidently’ in a rugby match, once. The relationship was pretty much doomed after that.” Beth laughed at this before turning to talk to Mira. They were never close growing up but their fathers _were_ old friends and quite close, too. She never once brought up the accident, though, and for that Arya was thankful.

“Alright, listen up for you positions: Erena is Goalie, Brienne Sweeper, Aly mid-back, Willow left-back and Mandie right-back; Arya in the middle with Beth, Gemma and Wylla on the wings, you can decide sides between yourselves and lastly Julie and Mira up-front. That leaves Lyanna, Weasel and Donnie on bench. Are we done with stretching?”

Everyone nodded and followed his direction to the fields, practicing a few short drills for fifteen minutes before the game was set to start. The officials walked on a few minutes short of ten-am, with the ref whistling for the players to run on.

They won the toss, with Erena choosing sides before they all took position, readying for the double M’s to kick off. The high-pitched whistle echoed in the air and they were thrown into play, with the Strikers passing it off into the midfield.

It was a slow start to the game, with the Mottes’ passing it amongst themselves in triangles, more-or-less sticking to their side.

But as both Wylla and Beth attacked on both sides, leaving a gap, a forward slipped through. It was embarrassing with every player scrambling to reach the fast striker with tricks up her sleeve, and with a quick look to the sheltered benches, Gendry thought so too with his hands covering his face. Arya took a deep breath and sped up. The Mottes’ player was quick but she was faster, gaining closure with every step. She was half-way up the field when Arya tackled in, stealing the ball from underneath her and running with it.

“BRILLIANT TACKLE, ARYA. YOU’VE GOT TIME, DON’T WASTE IT!” His voice boomed loud and clear into the chilly morning air.

Once clearing enough distance, she passed it out wide, near Gemma who had time to run it down the line before passing it out to Beth who stalled, tricked the defender with a step-over and filed it through to Julie.

The Mottes’ defenders were brilliant, however, and Julie lost the ball in a matter of seconds due to their quick thinking.

“ALRIGHT LADIES, BIT OF AN EARLY WAKE-UP CALL. LET’S GET ON IT!”

For the next fifteen minutes, it was back and forth. One minute the Cats’ had the ball, with Mira striking a brilliant ball right into the keeper’s arms, a minute later and Brienne was tackling a pesky midfielder trying to hit the back-of-the-net. The game was going on where, it seemed, with no results showing and energy levels quickly draining.

On the next out, Gendry subbed off Julie who’d been going non-stop and replaced her with Lyanna. Weasel and Donnie were also subbed on, replacing Gemma and Alysane.

“Gen wants you up with me. Mira’s going back into the mids.” The young girl said quickly, taking position and laughing as Arya stuck up her middle finger in his direction.

Wylla took the throw, direction down the line right to Beth’s feet. She crossed it in to Arya.

She followed it through, right down the middle until she found and opening. Arya jockeyed, passed it through their patchy defence line right onto Lyanna’s volley kick into the top-corner – a near-perfect goal.

The Cats’ bench erupted into celebration, standing up and waving their limbs around crazily as a few f-bombs slipped in here and there.

“THAT’S WHAT I’M FUCKIN’ TALKING ABOUT!”

Gendry _may_ have got a warning from one of the linesmen on that one.

Lyanna and Arya embraced happily before slapping hands with some of their teammates, quickly getting back into position as the Mottes’ were set to kick off.

From that point onwards it went back to the slow beginning, with possession of the ball varying on both sides. Erena made a brilliant save by the scrape of her hands, almost like a predator leaping for a prey. Everyone cheered _extra_ loud on that one.

Everyone laughed, however, at Arya’s mortifying miss. She had a clear shot and blew it _way_ over the crossbar. “I’m sorry!” She shouted, blushing red as Gendry’s booming laugh drowned out the rest of the team’s chuckles.

“Nice shot, Stark!” Brienne shouted cheekily.

“Misses the net by an inch.” Wylla grinned at her, waving her off the field as Gendry subbed her off for Julie.

“That was brilliant, Stark.” Gendry smirked at her, as Mandie and Beth laughed behind her.

“I NEED WATER!” Mandie whined, lunging for the crate. Once Arya filled her guts with H2O – ‘you’ll get a stitch’ their coach protested – she found her breath to retaliate.

“Fuck you!” She bit out scathingly, dropping inelegantly next to Beth.

“Well, I thought it was a _brilliant_ kick.”

“Thank you, Beth.”

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asked, taking a seat next to her.

“It wasn’t amazing, either.”

“That was one bloody good assist, no?”

“ _Good_?” Mandie said with a mouthful of food. “More like fwucking amashing!”

“You didn’t trip over your feet.” Gendry added with a warm smile. “That’s always a plus.”

“You should’ve seen her when she was fifteen.” Beth gushed. “She was scoring goals all over the place. I’ve never seen anyone train harder than Arya did to get into the State team.”

“I wasn’t that—”

“Don’t even try to deny your skill back then. Fuck, Arya, you probably would’ve made it on the women’s national team had you not quit. Jory always said it was a damn shame you quit.”

“Is that true?” Gendry asked as Arya thought on Jory. She hadn’t thought of him in years. She wondered where he was.

“Girl was a gun at football.” Beth answered.

“Why in the Seven Hells did you quit?” Arya stilled, flashes of bright lights and rushing water replaying in her mind.

“Who cares, right?” Beth spoke quickly. “We have her now and that’s all that matters.”

Gendry shot her a concerning glance just as the ref blew his whistle with the Cats’ up one point to nil at Half-Time. The girls all came off field sweaty and happy, bouncing with newfound energy at their lead.

Wylla did a little happy dance as she snuck some of Mandie’s food while she wasn’t looking.

“Nice work, ladies. Our defence is really looking strong today despite the little mishap in the beginning.” They all laughed at this. “Weasel and Manderly, you girls are on fire today. I don’t think I’ve seen Wylla’s little legs pump any harder.”

“Watch it, Waters.”

“Lyanna, your shots are on target as always but there’s been a few open-shots you haven’t risked taking.”

“I know.” Lyanna groaned. “I have no idea why I’m hesitating so much.”

“You’re always like this early in the season, Lya.” Alysane told her sister.

“Give it some time and you’ll be back to your usual brilliance. And Brienne – Gods, you are this team’s backbone. Have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

“Once or twice.” The woman smiled.

“Julie, you’re an actual machine I think and some special congratulations is owed to our newest member, Arya, for her first assist; _welcome to the team, Stark!”_

“Onya, Arya!”

“Don’t forget that beautiful shot.”

“It _was_ a gorgeous miss, wasn’t it?”

“Alright, alright.” Gendry quelled the group. “Before we go back on, a few tips: remember your triangles, _fucking communicate_ and don’t let the little mistakes get the better of you; keep a clear head. Alright, Arya’s back in midfield, Mandie can take Willow’s position, Mira can push up front again, Weasel can stay in the mids and Beth can replace Wylla. So that leaves Willow, Wylla and Julie with a well-deserved break.”

The ref signalled for the players to return to field, leaving Lyanna and Mira to kick-off.  

They did-so on the ref’s whistle, with the Cats’ jumping right into play. Beth on the wing was quick to burst forward, with Lyanna quickly crossing it over, arching perfect in the air with the ball dropping at Beth’s feet. She ran it down the line, lost it to a defender, one it back to a defender and passed it through to Weasel who…

…who was offside. The linesmen raised his flag high in the air, with the ball immediately going to the opposition.

“Fuck, I’m sorry guys.”

“ALRIGHT, THAT WAS A QUICK PLAY – WE CAN DO IT AGAIN.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Arya brushed it off with a pat on the disheartened girl’s back.

The second half dissolved mush quicker than the first, with it already thirty minutes in with not even a close-call of any account. It was only when the Might Mottes’ zig-zagged through their defence, with the girl even escaping Brienne’s looming shadow, did anything come about.

The striker struck the ball, right below the crossbar.

“THAT’S IN!” Beth screamed, clenching her fists. Erena, the brilliant woman, used her legs like springs and soared through the air, catching the ball with gloved hands.

“GET DOWN, GET DOWN!” She screamed, bouncing the ball once, running up the line. “WHERE ARE YOU, CATS’?”

She bounced it a second time before kicking the ball from her outstretched hands, the object flying past half-way. It landed at Gemma’s feet, who passed to Weasel, who passed it to Julie (subbed on a mere ten minutes ago) who passed it to Gemma. It was a triangle, just as Gendry suggested.

“BRILLIANT WORK, LADIES!” He boomed from the side-lines.

“Lyanna’s free.” The young girl shouted, clearing her way through the defenders.

Weasel crossed in the ball and followed it through, with Lyanna swinging back her leg and striking the ball hard.

It flew through the wind, spinning slightly and hit the crossbar.

A collective groan went up in the air, but Arya held her breath and watched as Weasel sprinted towards the ball, softly tapping it with her left-foot which was enough for it to skid across the grass, right into the bottom-right corner of the net.

It was all a blur from there, with the team shouting out like fools.

“WEASEL, I COULD KISS YOU!”

“PLEASE DON’T!” Weasel smirked back to her coach as everyone enveloped her in a group hug.

The last ten minutes were quick and easy, with Deepwood Motte crumbling from the pressure. The Cats’ maintained their score at full-time, shaking the opposition’s hands with glee.

She was surprised as Gendry embraced each and every one of them. Arya didn’t know how to react when he pulled her into his arms, rather forcefully, and stood their stunned as he clutched her tightly to his body for all of five seconds.

“He hugged you longer than anyone else.” Wylla smugly announced in a quiet voice, after they all got their cheers out and cleaned up in the _Away_ showers. They were settling on the bus with Gendry outside sorting out the match sheet with the officials.

“Come on, Manderly, we just won. Don’t ruin my good mood.”

“If you ask me, I think his arms only improved your mood.”

“ _Shut up!”_

“You two aren’t seriously bickering after that bloody-good game, are you?” Gendry said, plopping himself down to Arya _rather closely_ with a loud huff.

“Man, I am exhausted.” He exclaimed.

“You’re exhausted?” Donnie shouted from the front. “I just played my arse off and now I have to drive a bunch of idiots for an hour-and-a-half.”

Gendry just shook his head and glanced at her, already seated with her earbuds in.

“You played well today.” She turned down the volume.

“You think?”

“Yeah. That assist was pretty fucking good. And that miss—” He laughed as she punched him. “What ‘cha listening to?”

“King Krule.”

“The lanky ginger bloke?” He asked with a scrunched-up face. “He can’t even sing.”

“Hey!” She gasped, about to rip him to pieces before he plucked the earbud from her left ear and placed it in her own.

They worked through her playlist, after that, bickering over who’s music taste was better until Arya began to drift off to the lilt of Mac DeMarco’s voice. It was a smooth trip home.

Later that night, when she was settled in bed ready for sleep her phone buzzed with a message from Wylla.

Arya opened a picture – it was of her and Gendry, with her head resting on his shoulder; hair all mussed and face red. His head lulled to the side on top of hers, eyes tightly closed. Deep in sleep.

‘Cute.’ She captioned it with a heart emoji.

Arya _definitely_ did not think of _amazing_ sex after seeing that photo of Gendry’s ruffled black hair. Not at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this was rushed and incredibly difficult to write and It's not my best. But Y'all have been waiting and deserve a chapter so forgive any mistakes (no matter how big plz :P) and enjoy. 
> 
> Cheers :)

**Chapter Seven  
** **Myrcella Baratheon**

 

Their house was on the outskirts of the city, a road winding and twisting uphill to the ‘Real Housewives of Winterfell’. Cul-de-sac and all, with a stunning view of the Wolfswood and a perfect family-friendly living area. Robb and Myrcella; the typical cliché. 

Arya sighed, standing before the door. She was tired from work, sore from training and, honestly, she was still slightly hungover from last night’s celebrations. All in all, she wasn’t in the right mood.

She sighed heavily, again, and twisted to knob to help herself in. The first thing in sight was the well-decorated hallway, clearly favouring Myrcella’s side since Robb didn’t have a single artistic bone in his body (he’d weirdly argue his penis on that). It wasn’t long before the couple themselves peered out from the kitchen.

“Arya!” Myrcella exclaimed, long curls bouncing as she perkily walked her way over. She was very gorgeous, with a golden smile much like the rest of her family. “I thought that was you I heard.” They stood in front of each other for a few long seconds before engaging in quite possibly the most awkward hug ever. Thankfully Robb rescued the strange situation.

“Gods, you fucking reek Ar.” He stood behind his fiancé, arm smoothly linking itself around her shoulder.

“That’s funny.” She remarked dryly. “Because I just had a shower.”

“Don’t listen to the git. He’s just grumpy Winterfell lost to your brother-in-law.”

“Sandor beat us?” Arya cried. “Now that is something to be grumpy about.” Robb nodded his head seriously with a clenched jaw.

“It was a disgusting effort from the Northmen.”

“Lucky we can drown our sorrows with alcohol.” She had a toothy grin while holding up the bottle of cheap red from the Arbors. “Cabernet Sauvignon under twenty.”

“Actually Ar, we’re on a cleanse. We’re foregoing alcohol before the wedding so I’ll be slim enough for my suit.” Robb pouted and stuck out his hips, earning a laugh from his fiancé and a big eye roll from his sister. _Of course she’d be on a cleanse_ , Arya thought bitterly, _and force Robb into it too._

“More for me, I guess.” She quipped dryly, following the two into the kitchen.

“Actually, unfortunately for you, not your liver, we invited two other alcoholics over tonight.”

“Howdy, howdy.” Bran smiled softly at her raised brow. “I sent you a text, like, six hours ago about us coming.” He gestured toward himself and Jojen just as Arya eased herself into a stool at the kitchen bench.

“It’s been a long day.” She groaned. “My fucking back is killing me.”

“I have a spare voucher for a one-hundred-dollar massage at Mockingbird. You can have it if you want.” Arya curiously glanced at the woman chopping up vegetables. She’d tied her hair back into a messy bun, still as radiant as ever. "It doesn't expire for a while and I can always spare some time on the weekend."

“Oh.” She said after a beat. “Thank you, uh, Myrcella. It’s just that— I’m actually really busy at the moment.”

“That’s a shame.” She replied back easily, smile unwavering. “If things change give me a ring."

“Well, if things _don’t_ change just give me a ring, darling, and I’ll gladly take that voucher off your hands.” Jojen sent Arya a wink before nodding to the bottle still in her hands. “That ever gonna’ get opened, love?”  

“Sure is. So, this cleanse doesn’t mean you’ve chucked out your glasses, right?”

“If so, I’m happy with a mug.” 

“Am I the sensible drinker tonight?” Bran whined.

“They’re in the top cupboard there.” Robb lazily pointed before continuing to help his fiancé cook. “Although, given how cheap this wine is, you should be sipping it out of mugs.”

“Oh, shut it.” Myrcella swatted him lightly. “It reminds me of my uni days.”

“So it reminds you of me, then? Baby, I was your uni days.”

“For fuck sake, Robb, could you be any more of a douche?”

“I thought it was smooth.” Jojen drawled out as Arya rolled her eyes. “Arya, honey, you should’ve brought a date since you’re fivewheeling this dinner. You’re ruining the sexual tension.”

“Gross. I don’t want to know about my little brother’s sexual tension.” Robb scrunched his nose in disgust.

“By date he means Meera.” Bran adds in, casually screwing open the bottle.

“Obviously. Little more, sweetheart.” Jojen hums in approval as Bran fills the glass.

“Although I’m sure that coach of yours would’ve gladly accepted an interrogation from this one if it meant a night with you.” Robb perked up at this.

“What’s this? Do I need to put a curfew on you?”

“Fuck off, Robb.”

“LAUNGAUGE!”

“Blame Meera, not me.” Bran held his hands up in surrender. “Or some girl called Wylie.”

“Wylla.” Arya gritted out the correction.

“Are you seriously shagging your coach?” Jojen smirked before taking a deep sip from his glass. “Such a porn cliché.”

“Stop tainting my sister with your perverted thoughts!”

“Coming from the most perverted man on the planet.” Bran mumbled into his glass.

“Oh, the irony.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, please Robb, we all saw the search history on your laptop.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“This sounds promising.” Myrcella looked smug as she looked up at her fiancé.

“My bedroom was also right next to yours.” Bran shuddered. “Maybe that’s why I’m gay?”

Everyone but Robb laughed at this.

“Who wants a top up?”

The conversation drizzled after that, with Robb setting his siblings to set the dinner table (Bran pointed out there ‘guest’ status. Jojen sat and watched the two bicker over what side the cutlery would be on and which tablecloth looked nicer and, finally, who sat where. Robb told them to quiet down and help bring in the food. Arya nearly fainted when she saw the pork crackle.

“Ouch.” She hissed after receiving a smack from Robb.

“None of this is to be touched until all the greens are gone.” He cooed, piling on the broccoli, beans and peas.

“Are you pregnant?” Bran asked Myrcella, who simply blinked her response. “Is that why you agreed to marry this oaf?”

“And the wine.” Jojen added, scooping some gravy onto his meat. “Don’t forget the no alcohol.”

“Sweetheart, this looks fucking amazing.” Robb pointedly glared at the other couple as Myrcella smiled.

“There will be no babies for, like five years, thanks.”

“What?!” Robb mocked outrage. “Damn you woman! I will impregnate you on the night of our marriage.”

“ARYA, GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CRACKLE!”

She had a sly grin as a loud crunch filled the air. Everyone glared at her for the rest of the dinner.

It was how she’d ended up on wash up duty as her brother dried, with Bran, Jojen and Myrcella relaxing in the loungeroom, an occasional loud laugh drifting into the kitchen.

“You don’t use the dish washer; why am I not surprised?” She said dryly, rinsing the gravy pot before dunking it into the sudsy water.

“I’m conservative.”

“You’re actual trash.” Robb held a hand to his heart.

“Your words wound me. And here I thought you’d praise me for scoring you an interview.” The comment almost flew right over head. Almost.

“What?” She gasped, sponge dripping onto the tile. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ smugly. “Sunday week, midday twelve. Don’t be late.” Oh no.

“I think I have a game around that time next Sunday.”

“Better ring that coach of yours.” Robb said. “Speaking of, do you really fancy the bloke?”

“Is there any way to reschedule? Like an earlier time, or even a later time?”

“Arya, I got you an interview with the Head of Council. I gave Roose Bolton my office chair for that. You don’t accept that, for one soccer game, you lose that interview.”

“Football.” She muttered under her breath.

“I’m serious, Arya. This is your only chance unless that Braavosi boss of yours pulls his weight and helps you out.”

“Jaqen’s from Lorath.” She paused a beat. “I think. He’s kind of sketchy.” At her brother’s heavy glare, she heaved a sigh. “I know, I know. I need this interview, I’m not stupid. Missing one game won’t hurt.”

“Good. Now get washing, woman!” He demanded. “Don’t you live in a kitchen?”

“How are you even getting married in a few months?”

He responded with a whip of his tea-towel

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

“Should I be salty that you never told me about state?” Arya groaned loudly. In the process of managing Robb Stark to push back dinner a half-hour, she’d landed herself ‘penance’ for leaving training early. Packing up the excessive gear may have been awful but her coach’s interrogation was torture.

“Can we not?” She whined.

“Absolutely not! I had an earful of Beth’s drunk ramblings, gushing over how bloody great you were when you were sixteen. I think I bloody-well deserve an explanation, don’t you?”

She replied by picking up a ball and hurling it at his head (he, unfortunately, dodged it).

“No need to get pissy because I brought up Sunday night’s shenanigans, Miss Stark.” He laughed as she glared in his direction. “You were off your face. You started singing the cookie-monster song.” She plopped the balls in the net without looking at his smug expression, even while he sang in a low voice. “C is for cookie, cookie is for me.”

“That’s good enough for me.” She mumbled out the correction as his booming laugh echoed over the fields. This time, when she threw the last ball, she clocked him right in the forehead. Now it was her turn to laugh. She cackled as he yelped, shielding his face after he’d been hit.

“Consider yourself permanently benched.”

“I haven’t heard that threat before.” She remarked dryly, dropping in the last ball. “Can we get the net, now?”

“Yes, m’lady.” He bowed at her icy glare. “But you’ll have to get on my shoulders. I can’t be arsed to get that ladder.” She shrugged and followed him over to the goalposts, climbing onto his oh-so-broad shoulders once he got down on his knees. Arya let out an embarrassing squeak when he quickly stood to full height.

“How can you not do this by yourself? You’re a fucking ogre.”

“How rude.” He sniffed, his large hands gripping her by the thighs to hold her steady as she began to unloop the net from its hook. “Is it insulting to comment on your thighs? Because you could seriously kill someone with these; they’re tank.” She clenched harder, laughing at his soft hiss.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Good to know.”

“Hold on, this one’s in a bit of a tangle.”

“Fucking twelve-year old’s.” He muttered under his breath as she studied the complicated knots. His hands went around the back of her, settling on the small of her back as she aggressively began pulling in all directions.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’ll sue you if I do.”

 She jolted back as the net finally released, hands firmly gripping her hips while she gripped onto his head.

“Okay, we won’t be doing this again unless you want to fall on your head and break your neck.”

“Agreed."

Once she was set on her feet they began pulling out the metal pegs (some proving to be quite difficult) and were finally able to roll the net up and stuff it in the wheelie bin.

“So, you never told me why you had skip training early?” He gave her a small smile as they collected the rest of the cones.

“I had this stupid dinner with my brother.” She huffed.

“Bran?”

“No. My other stupid brother, Robb. He’s the oldest so he basically thinks he’s entitled to everything. Being a male doesn’t help, either.”

“Hey! Stop stereotyping my gender.” She laughed at this. “How many siblings do you even have?”

“Well, there’s Robb, Bran, who you've met, and Rickon who’s still in Highschool. Then there’s my sister Sansa.”

“The one married to the Hound?”

“Yes. And Jon, my cousin. His parents passed away when he was just a baby,” She remarked sadly. "so I look up to him as a brother." Gendry nodded at this.

“That sounds like utter chaos to me. I can't imagine having a family that big. It’s always just been me and my Mum. Well, occasionally my Dad would show up but…” He trailed off, with Arya glancing at his set jaw curiously. “I've always wanted a big family, though." She snorted at this.

"Good luck finding a willing woman." He chuckled, low and deep.

"So, why was this dinner so stupid?" She flushed under his amused gaze.

“Oh, um. This will probably sound shallow to your ears, but it was because of his fiancé.” She paused. "It's kind of weird- awkward, I guess."

“Why, what'd she do?”

“It’s not really what _she_ did, but what her  _family_ did."

"Well that  _isn't_ vague." 

"It's complicated." She snapped at his pointed look. 

“So you hate this girl—”

“—hate? Well, I’m not a fan but I don’t _hate_ her. I mean, she rarely speaks to them anyways…” Arya sighed. “It’s just, her family did something _really_ awful to us. And the worst part is that they got away with it.”

“You _misjudge_ this girl, then, for the actions of her family?” He said softly after a beat of silence “The family who probably look down at her for choosing your own rather than her blood?” He shook his head, laughing.

“You make it sound so petty and stupid.”

“Well it is, isn’t.” She huffed and dumped the cones into the wheelie bin, stomping up with the net of balls over her shoulder. Gendry was quick to drag the bin up to her, following her to the shed. “I’m sorry, it just sounds a bit ridiculous.”

“You don’t understand. You _wouldn’t_ understand!"

“Try me, then.” He snatched her hand, stopping her, and looked fiercely into her eyes. She quickly forced her eyes down to the ground. "I don't understand, Arya. But you can  _help_ me understand if you want. If you ever need _or_ want someone to chat with, just know that I'm here. Not just as your coach, but as a friend, too." His eyes looked brighter than ever. 

“Oh.” She was stunned silent. “Thank you, Gendry.”

They worked in silence for the rest of the time, storing everything back in the shed and locking up tight. Now, she was waiting in the warmness of her car, waiting for Gendry to return from switching off the lights.

“All done. You’re _free_ to go, Stark.” She let out a cheer as he stuck his head through the open car window.

“I guess _now_ is a good time to mention something about missing a game? Maybe.”

“What? I better see you Friday.”

“You will. Next Sunday, however, maybe not.” He groaned.

“Come on, Arya, we’ll need you. KLL are on the top. Always bloody have been, it’s a joke.”

“I’m really, really sorry. It’s the only time I can interview this prick from the council. I wish I could be there, really.”

"Fucking government." She patted his hand in sympathy.

“KLL?" She wondered aloud. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

“Kings Landing Lions? Their premiers are paid to play. It’s fucking ridiculous.” _Lannister’s._ “Judging by that face you’re making, you _have_ heard of them.”

“I know of them.” She remarked bitterly, thinking of the great, intimidating Tywin Lannister.  _Surely he wouldn't be coaching first division women, though?_

“The loss was that great, huh?”

She could only nod. Suddenly, the thought of missing this game didn't sound that awful. 

“I’ll see you Friday, yeah?”

“Right.” He said with a furrowed brow, stepping away from the car as she started it up. “I’ll see you Friday.” He looked at her strangely, but her mind was on other things as she pulled out of the park and onto the road.

She’d lost so much all those years ago, on that one _stupid_ night. And Tywin Lannister had taken her justice.

Sometimes, she couldn't help but blame herself...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell, how early is this HAHA. I rushed towards the end as I hop on a train to go to Sydney todaaaaayy (YAAASS)  
> I'm going to Drama Camp. So dramatic... lel
> 
> Enjoy the chapt, it's a long one 6200 words!   
> Cheers!

**Chapter Eight  
** **The Showdown**

 

“Is it weird if I spontaneously message your fit uncle?”

“What in the Sevens?” Aegon looked baffled. Arya simply shrugged.

“I strongly advise you to not do it.” She frowned at this. “But I’m sure Benjen wouldn’t find it strange at all.”

“You two are mental.” Aegon remarked in awe, watching as Meera recruited Arya to look over her writing.

“Does this make me sound like a desperate slag?”

“Desperate, a little; slag, _never.”_ Meera snorted at this. “Just say you’re planning a surprise birthday party for me.”

“Your birthday’s not until December.” Aegon held his hands up in surrender at the two glares aimed his way.

“If he questions it just put it down to cheaper flights.”

“Am I the _only_ one who thinks this is weird?”

“Do you _ever_ shut your trap?” Meera said hotly.

They were all on break, but instead of holing up in the office with their leftovers like they usually did, Arya and Meera decided to head to the café across the street. Aegon decided to tag along.

Arya’s phone vibrated loudly against the table. The other two continued to bicker.

**Gendry Waters**  
Tonight should be a breeze. You’re  
going in striker. Sorry  :)

_The nerve of this man,_ she thought while aggressively typing her reply.

**Arya Stark  
** Good luck with that  ;)

“It’s like you _want_ to grammar check my work.”

“I’d be _happy_ to point out your mistakes, good sir.”

**Gendry Waters**  
I don’t need luck. I’ll have you on that  
field ready to strike a goal

She shoved a hot chip in her mouth and took a sip from her coke before replying.

**Arya Stark**  
Last I heard, you’re also playing  
tonight. On the main field, obviously.  
Priorities = Men

           

**Gendry Waters**  
Caught out :O  
Lucky for you, I’ll only miss the last  
15 mins for warm up. And don’t be like  
that, you girls deserve to be playing on main

                       

**Arya Stark**  
Well, fuck. I thought we scored a better coach  
for the night. How disappointing.

**Gendry Waters**  
Your actually so mean. RIP my   
feelings :’(

 

**Arya Stark  
** *You’re :P

“What in the actual fuck are you so giddy about?” Arya jumped in her seat, quickly locking her phone. “Who are you texting, Arya Stark?”

“It was just Jon.” Aegon’s eyes narrowed in.

“Your blushing face says something different.”

“You two were literally just verbally attacking each other two seconds ago and now you’re ganging up on me?”

“I think, as you best friend, _I_ deserve to know who you’re sexting.”

“Really, Meera?” Arya whined.

“It’s Gendry, isn’t it. I mean, who else could it be unless you scored a tinder date?” She paused for three seconds before inhaling loudly, eyes blowing wide. “Arya Stark, did you _withhold_ information from me about a hot, steamy tinder date?!”

“There is _seriously_ something wrong with you.”

“Your coach? Surely not.” Aegon’s scrunched-up face was not an attractive one, nor was his dismissal tone. Just as Arya opened her mouth to retort, her phone rang out loud and clear with Jon’s name bold in the display.

She smirked and held up the device to show the other two, “I told you so,” before leaping from the table and rushing out of the busy café.

_“Wow, you actually answered.”_ His thick Northern accent erupted from the speakers. _“I thought with the article and football you’d be too busy. Oh, and the whole ‘coach boyfriend’ too.”_

“Not you too.” She groaned.

_“I’m a little hurt you never told me about this article. Or football or the coach you’re seeing.”_ She knew he was teasing which annoyed her all the more.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” She snapped before taking on a softer tone. “I’m sorry for not telling you, though. It’s just…I’ve been so, so busy.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.” His laugh crackled slightly.

_“Trust me, I know. With the first game coming up, Mormont’s been on us like crazy. So much planning and running and diets. I’m dying, Arya.”_

“I would pity you but you earn more than one-hundred-thousand Dragons per game.”

_“Correction; per winning game.”_

“The woes of a footballer.” He chuckled. “And how do the precious Crows fare this year? Any chance of winning the championship?”

_“Our side is pretty fit this year, Arya. And as their Captain, I’d rather pull my eyes out than let the Sunspears win another fucking championship.”_

_“Don’t listen to the twat, Arya. He knows nothing.”_ It was clear that Ygritte had plucked the phone from his grip. _“The Northern Wildlings are clear for a win this year, I’m sure o’ it.”_ Her accent was even thicker than Jon’s; add that with her brash attitude and you see a lot of cowering men, Jon at the top of the list.

“Well, I think the Wolves have a shot at it this year.” She said dryly, with Ygritte cackling manically.

_“Good luck with that one, Stark, with half yer’ players out.”_

“As long as it’s a Northern team who wins, I guess.”

_“Fuckin’ aye!”_

_“Speaking of football, what’s the go with you playing again.”_ Jon had won back his phone, it seemed. _“I was more shocked about that than your secret boyfriend, if I’m honest.”_

“Who even told you?”

_“Robb, of course. You scored a goal yet?”_

“I’ve only played two games, so no.”

_“As your teacher for many years, I am extremely disappointed in you.”_

“Will one assist do?”

_“I suppose so.” He tutted. “But this coach won’t do.”_

“Oh, shut your face!” She exclaimed. “I am not shagging my coach!”

_“Shagging?”_ Jon gasped. _“Aren’t you twelve?”_ She rolled her eyes at this. 

“Why did you call again?”

_“To talk to my favourite Cousin, of course.”_

“I always knew it.”

_“But for real, it’s the article that has me intrigued. I heard it wasn’t in the celebrity section and about a certain, familiar tree we all know and love?”_

“And how it’s getting the chop?” He made a disgusted noise at this. “Well, never fear Jon Snow, for Old Nan is back at her ‘old activism ways’.”

“Wait, seriously?” He laughed. “That’s fucking insane.”

“I know. She’s still a nutter, of course.”

_“I would be surprised if she weren’t.”_ Jon exhaled loudly. _“Well, I best be off to training before Mormont throws a ball at my head. You can tell me all about this article and football when you come up in two weeks’ time.”_ She paused and blinked dumbly. _“Oh, did I mention that was why I called?”_

“I’m sorry, what?”

_“Crows play Winterfell Saturday week. Our home game. I thought you could make a holiday out of it with one of your Football buddies, no?”_

“Are you fucking joking right now?” She asked, earning a dirty look from an elderly woman as she strolled past.

_“I thought it’d be fun. And declining isn’t an option, I got you two great seats in the stands, so take your pick and come up Friday night.”_ She was stunned silent. _“You’ll love your rooms, trust me. And if the rumours are true, I can’t wait to meet your coach!”_

“Hey, I—” He’d hung up before she could curse him out. A hurried glance at her phone told her she’d missed another text from Gendry.

**Gendry Waters**  
You’re taking the kit tonight for your  
lack of commitment and blatant  
disrespect for your team coach  >:)

She smiled.

_Gendry is a huge supporter of the Crows._

It was a silly thought. **  
**

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

 

“Ah, she has arrived!” Gendry smirked at her.

“Oh, shut it and give me my shirt you twat.” He did as she asked, pegging it at her head as she squeaked. His laughter was quick to disappear when he saw Aegon standing behind her.

“Is that Meera fucking Reed I see?” Wylla and Weasel were quick to run over, breaking away from the rest of the team warming up much to Brienne’s distaste.

“Evening whores.” Aegon avoided Gendry’s curious eyes and snorted.

“So, degrading. I don’t understand?”

“This is Aegon, our boss. He doesn’t have a clue when it comes to women, so take heed with this one.”

“He has nicer hair than me. What brand of shampoo do you use?”

“Can I have your number?”

“Back on the field, Manderly. No distractions on game day.” Wylla poked her tongue out. “You too, Weasel.”

Arya hurried off to change as Wylla and Gendry, as usual, bickered. She was out in no time, just in time to do her stretches.

“We thought you weren’t coming.” Gendry bent low to talk softly in her ear. “I thought you chickened out.”

“Your threats don’t scare me, you know. Those two together do, though.” She pointed to Meera and Aegon, huddled together from the cold and clearly deep in conversation.

“UP THE CRANNOG CROC’S!”

“Meera, you traitorous twat!” Wylla shouted, almost toppling over on one leg.

“I WAS BORN AND BRED IN THE NECK, BITCHES!” Gendry chuckled as Aegon was quick to muzzle her with his hand.

“I think the linesmen will have a few words if she continues.”

“She’d probably flirt with the poor bloke.” He scoffed.

“The kid’s, like, nineteen.”

“That wouldn’t stop her.” Gendry grinned at her before studying Meera who was whacking Aegon’s hand away. He turned and clapped loudly as the Croc’s gathered around their own coach.

“Alright ladies, simple game ahead of us, I hope.” He began as the girls circled around. “The Croc’s have never been the strongest side, but they’re sneaky with the ball. The forwards know their tricks just as the defence know their traps.”

“Too bad they can’t strike a goal to save their lives.”

“Mira Forrester, what a _nasty_ comment.” Alysane snickered.

“Well, she isn’t lying.”

“Gods Donnie. I’m honestly proud.” The older woman beamed at Wylla’s comment.

“It _is_ the truth.” Gendry added, glancing around confused at their shocked expressions. “What? Just because I’m the coach doesn’t mean I can’t join in.”

The ref blew his whistle, loud and clear in the cool air.

“Alright, quick positions. Mandie’s keeping for tonight. Defence girls can go their usual preferred positions; don’t expect a break tonight with Erena gone.”

“Where is Erena?”

“At a wedding.” He replied quickly. “Gemma and Manderly on the wings, choose which side between yourselves; Mira and Beth in mids and Lyanna and Julie up front.”

Weasel and Arya grinned after learning they’d been benched together.

“Brienne’s captain. Now run on before everyone gets pissy.”

They did as he asked, with the Croc’s winning the toss (Meera cheered loudly at this) and Weasel and Arya found themselves sitting next to Gendry minutes after. He had the jitters, tapping his foot and impatiently waiting for the ref to signal kick-off. When he finally did, Gendry stood from his seat and crossed his arms firmly across his chest.

“So what’s the deal with you and Aegon?” Arya rolled her eyes.

“He’s my boss. There is _no_ deal.”

“Oh, please, the poor bloke fancies you and you barely take notice.”

“MANDERLY’S OUT WIDE! USE HER, USE HER!” Gendry clapped his hands loudly whenever a good pass was executed.

“Because he’s my boss. And because I _don’t_ fancy him.”

“Really?” Weasel looked at her curiously. “Not even a little?”

“JOCKEY, LYANNA, JOCKEY!”  

“No.”

“So you don’t find him attractive at all?” Arya laughed at this.

“Gods, he is _really_ attractive. Like, sinfully good-looking but—”

_“Will you two quit chatting and pay attention to your team, please?”_ He hissed it out in a harsh tone.

“No need to get snappy, Gen.” He didn’t reply, but his tight-set-jaw made his response pretty clear.

“NICE DEFENCE, TARTH. KEEP IT UP, GIRLS!”

“You should go out with Edric.” Weasel spoke up suddenly.

“Edric? Who’s that?”

“Edric. Pretty boy, around average height with blonde hair. He’s a little shy and will pretty much apologise to everything. I think you too would hit it off.”

“I don’t know. I’m not a fan of blind dates.”

“You’ll meet him tonight if you stay to watch Prems. He’ll probably come out with us, too.” Weasel gave her a shy, small smile. “I’ve heard he’s good with his tongue from a girlfriend of mine. _You feel?”_

Gendry proved the impossible and stiffened slightly more.

“I do feel.” Arya heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. It’s been so long that it’s embarrassing.” She hushed it as quietly as she could, but from the way Gendry’s shoulders jerked, he had heard. “I guess if it meant nothing and was just one night…” She trailed off as blue eyes met hers, sending a tingle down her spine.

“Ned’s not that type of guy, though. A one-night-stand kind of guy. Sorry, _Edric.”_ Weasel added at Arya confused look.

“Gods, it’s a definite no. Ned’s my dad’s name.” _Was,_ a small part reminded her, _he’s gone now._ Weasel laughed.

“Imagine calling that out while—”

“What the fuck, Weasel!” She giggled, despite Gendry’s heavy glare.

“So Ned’s a definite no?”

“A fuck no, more like it.” She swore she saw his shoulders relax at this.

“Such a shame.”

For the rest of their time off, they sat in silence (which finally had Gendry less tense). It had just hit the fifteen-minute mark when the first goal came for the Cats. The Croc’s had, miraculously, managed to slip past their defensive line, with Brienne hot and flustered, on the midfielder’s tail. But they really _couldn’t_ seem to strike a good goal, with the kick falling flat and rolling straight into Mandie’s gloved hands.

In an instant, the ball was back down the field with Wylla in possession after Mandie’s brilliant kick. She zig-zagged through the patchy defence line, avoided a tackle from the opposition and crossed it in to the middle, where Lyanna stood tall, perched and ready to go. The young girl’s header wasn’t the best, but was enough to fumble through the Keeper’s hands and cross the line into the back of the net. The Cats cheered, all standing up to whoop loudly. Even the drunken group of boys’ fresh out of high school turned away from their precious Prem Reserves game on the main field over, shouting loudly at Lyanna who was clearly acquainted with the lot.

“LOOK AT ‘GRIZZLY’ GO!” One of the boys shouted.

“YEAH THE BEAR CUB!” Another screamed, spilling his beer as he lifted it high in the air. A wolf-whistle went up, much to the young girl’s mortification.

“REF!” Gendry captured the man’s attention. “SUB, PLEASE!” He called for Lyanna and Gemma, with Weasel sliding into the wings and Arya up front. She sent him a dirty look for that. She heard him softly congratulating Lyanna before hopping on field, an action that made her softly smile.

“YAS, STARK!” Meera called loudly. “THAT’S MY BITCH!” Aegon seemed to regret coming after that.

Arya breathed in deeply before bounding off at the sound of the whistle, the Croc’s kicking off.

Gendry was right about their tricks. They were so simple but executed so perfectly, making Arya look a fool as the young girl, who looked no older than sixteen, twirled and zoomed past her in an instant. And when that attack failed, with Willow passing it down to Weasel who threaded it through to Arya, she was immediately trapped in a triangle. She didn’t dare look at anyone after lamely booting the ball out.

“COME ON STARK, PICK UP THE GAME!” She sent him a fierce look that had him laughing.

Another fifteen minutes in and it’d been back and forth, with Lyanna now replacing Julie who sat on the bench next to a fuming Mira. She’d started an unpleasant argument with a particular feisty midfielder, with Gendry quickly subbing off the angry woman as obscenity after obscenity flew from both sides.

After that the game had become testy, with dirty shots being fired from both teams. The ref was quick to give a warning to Lyanna after shoulder-charging a little too roughly on the opposition. That particular exchange had earned her a yellow and a loud, encouraging cheer from the young boys on the sidelines who had all-but ditched the Prem-Reserves game.

“Gods, are you a big thing!” The comment had come from one of the forwards, after Brienne had won the ball and quickly booted it out, with no one to pass to, and gave the team some time to prepare and regenerate energy. The woman had sneered it out, and even though Arya was at the half-way mark and a long way from Brienne, she couldn’t help but speak up.

“OI!” She shouted loudly, earning the nasty forward’s attention. “Play nicely, now!”

“I wouldn’t say a word more, if I were you.” Wylla’s threat contained no profanity which made it all the more unnerving. The woman was quick to keep her mouth shut after that.

It was niggle at its finest, but enough to fuel them on when the Croc’s in the green kit readied themselves for the throw in. In a flash, it was Donnie who’d intercepted the throw. The ball hit her chest, dropping down to her feet where she was quick to pass it to an open Weasel, out wide. Arya ran with them, with Weasel passing it to Lyanna, back to Weasel, to Lyanna, back to Weasel and, finally, to Arya.

She was just inside the box, right-foot planted firmly beside the ball with her left leg swinging back in a single motion. It was a clear-shot to the right. Her leg swung back like a pendulum, ready to strike the ball into the net.

FWACK!

Suddenly, it was like all those years ago. _‘Breath Arya,’_ why was it so hard? _‘Just Breathe.’_ She barely noticed the commotion around her, with everyone surrounding her in uproar over the dodgy tackle. She wheezed like an old dog.

“You okay, sweetheart?” At first, she didn’t recognise who spoke. But then a wrinkled, tired face came into the view; a mother’s face. She blinked back the tears and smiled.

“I’m fine.” She gritted out, easing up to sit on the grass. “Just a bit winded.” She looked over to the Ref, who seemed to be nervously nodding as Gendry wildly pointed in her direction.

It wasn’t long after, with Arya now standing on her two feet, that a red card was pulled from his shirt pocket, with the spectators from both sides yelling loudly, in anger and joy. A few car-horns were honked, just as the group of boys drunkenly taunted the other side. Arya thought she saw one of them moon a particularly cranky spectator, muttering on about millennials.

“Are you right to take the dottie?” She didn’t even notice Gendry beside her until he spoke. “I’m taking you off either way, so don’t even _try_ to protest.” She didn’t. She wanted a break; but she also wanted a goal, even if her first of the season was from a dot-shot.

“I’m taking that shot.” She grumbled, nodding at the rest of her team who smirked at her in return.

“YOU FUCKING GOT THIS, ARYA!”

Arya smiled and shakily placed the ball on the white dot in the box, ignoring the Ref’s strict instructions for the players to be outside the box _and_ D. It was just her and the keeper, now. It felt more intimate, with the Goalie keeping busy on her line. Arya felt the sweat drip down her nose.

Her eyes flicked to the bottom right-corner before quickly returning to the ball, then the keeper. She took a step back, then another. One more step before breathing deeply, rolling her shoulders twice and exhaling. Her eyes flicked once more to the corner.

It was a small run up, a smooth motion of leg and the ball lifted, cracking into the back of the net in the bottom right-corner. The keeper didn’t even move as the ten seconds of silence erupted into noise again. She couldn’t count how many people hugged her after that. She was euphoric.

She’d missed the feeling. The pure thrill, the cheer of the crowd, the ‘what if’ moment only to be replaced by pure joy. So giddy she barely noticed her feet carrying her off the field to be benched once more; so happy that the pain that shot up her left-foot almost escaped her notice. _Almost._

“That was fucking brilliant!” Mira gushed. “Seriously, how does a girl of your height strike a ball that good?”

Gendry rushed to hand her a water bottle, quickly wrapping a blanket over her shoulders.

“What the…?” She stuttered, just as he knelt down in front of her and yanked off her boot. _Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who noticed the pain in her ankle._ “Don’t you dare rip off that sock; you’ll regret it, trust me.”

He ignored, chuckling slightly and lightly tickling her toes.

“I will kick you.”

“So stubby and short. _Weird.”_ His hands gently wrapped around her ankle. “I think you just rolled it.”

“I know.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Where’s my blanket?”

“But you’re not going back on tonight.” He ignored Mira. “You strain this anymore and you’ll end up with a sprained ankle.”

“I’ll be fine in fifteen, I swear.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound apologetic at all.

“But it isn’t even half-time yet.” He ignored her, stalking away from the bench.

“I’ll grab some ice from the canteen.” _What in the Seven._

“Seriously, where the fuck is _my_ blanket?”

~ * ~ * ~

 

She couldn’t stop staring at him.

She’d watched him play before, at training, and he was good. But while watching the last half of Prems after showering, dressing and eating a meat pie, it’d become clear just how good he was.

He was the backbone of the team, stopping every attack that came his way. Only once did she see him let a forward slip through, with the ball slipping into Anguy’s trusty hands. It was incredible.

He was competitive, too. That had become clear from tonight, too, with Aegon and Gendry setting up the darts at the Peach, readying themselves to play 501. They were both so tense over a ticket – a ticket for a weekend away with herself. _Should’ve gave it to Bran,_ her brain taunted as the nerves settled thickly in her stomach.

When she announced the extra ticket, only four people stood up; Gendry, Beth, Weasel and Aegon. Aegon didn’t have a single clue about football which made her all the more nervous. She’d sat through two, excruciating pool games that ended quickly with both boys sinking the black, leaving the girls defeated and disappointed.

“The rules are simple, lads.” Harwin began, addressing the whole bar – it wasn’t just the footballers spectating now – who listened to every word he spoke. “You have 501 points. You get three darts, you _throw_ these darts and the points you earn are subtracted off your five-o-one.”

“The first person to land _exactly_ zero points, with the last shot needing a double, wins the ticket.” It was Lem who spoke now.

“More like wins the girl, ey laddies?!” A few loud cheers and wolf-whistles erupted from this, with Arya shrinking further into her seat. Gendry smiled softly.

“If you bust over, you go to your last previous score.” Anguy circled the two opponents.

“If you bust on a score of one, you go to your last previous score.” Tom struck a chord on the ukulele he brought with him everywhere.

“And _if_ you score zero but do not score a double, you go back to your _previous score.”_ Harwin cleared his throat. “Are the rules clear?” The two men nodded, with Anguy drawing up the score beneath an A and G. Both boldly displayed the 501. “Then let’s begin. Since Aegon sunk the black faster than you, Gendry, he has the honour of starting off the game.”

“Fuck me, you’d think it were the Hunger Games with the way these lot are treating it.” She could only laugh weakly at Wylla’s joke since it held so much truth.

“A double five.” Tom shouted, strumming a chord. “A fifteen.” Another chord was strummed. “And a two. That’s four-seventy-four for Aegon.”

Gendry stood up to the line with his darts. “Can Gendry do better?” Harwin commented. “We shall see.”

“For fuck sake.” Arya muttered under her breath, shaking her head at the pure stupidity.

“There’s a one.” The crowd ‘ahhed’ in disappointment. “A nine.” Arya rolled her eyes and leapt up from her seat.

“Anyone want a beer?”

“And that’s a twelve for Mr. Waters. That leaves him with a four-seventy-eight. Aegon is in the lead.”

“A Great Northern for us two.” Wylla gesture between herself and Weasel.

“I’ll come with.” Meera jumped up and followed closely behind as they fought their way through the crowded bar. It took a whole seven minutes just to be noticed by one of the bartenders. Arya handed over the money and patiently waited for their drinks, pursing her lips as a loud cheer went up in the bar.

“This is fucking torture.” She groaned as Wylla smirked.

“Oh, don’t complain. You might get a good shag from this trip from _whoever_ you take. Those two really ooze out the testosterone, huh?” She rolled her eyes and politely thanked the frantic woman behind the bar. Poor woman probably dealt with more testosterone in one night than Arya had in her whole life (and she had three brothers and a male cousin).

“I just want to have a sleep, if I’m honest.” Arya sighed, narrowly missing a flailing elbow. “I just wanted a simple comp, not a fucking battle.” Another loud cheer went up.

“THAT’S TRIPLE-FUCKING-SIXTEEN FOR AEGON!”

“I hate myself.” Arya muttered much to Meera’s amusement. “Literally.”

They returned to the scene, much to her annoyance. The points had drastically changed, with Aegon on three-thirty-five and Gendry with three-fifty-seven.

“It’s entertaining, at least.” Weasel said after Arya handed her beer, slumping into her own seat sulkily placing the rim of the bottle to her lips.

“THAT’S A DOUBLE TWENTY FOR THE BULL.” Tom shouted. “A TEN.” Everyone was so loud at this point. “AND A SEVEN. THAT LEAVES HIM ON EXACTLY THREE-HUNDRED POINTS!”

“Someone, please, just kill me.” Arya moaned.

“Poor, helpless child.” Wylla muttered, stroking her forehead. “At least Gen is in the lead now and you have a chance of shagging him senseless—”

“End. My. Suffering.”

“He already is senseless when it comes to Arya.” Mira snarked out. “I can’t _believe_ he forgot to give me a blanket.”

“Seriously, Mira. It’s a fucking blanket.” Wylla muttered. “And the man’s foolishly fancying the fuck out of Arya; of course he’s going to give her the fucking blanket!”

It was the first time Arya laughed since the competition had begun. Then again, it was more or less hysterical.

“She’s actually gone mental.” Weasel said after a sip of her beer.

“AEGON’S ON THREE-O-FIVE! GENDRY IN THE LEAD!”

“Just remind her of our three – nil win over the Croc’s.”

“Such a shame.” Meera muttered sadly.

“Remind her of the goal I scored.” Wylla said suddenly. “Ar-e-yah, I thrusted the ball in the pelvic region and scored a goal. Do you remember?”

“She literally scored a goal with her vagina.” She giggled even more.

“Are you drunk?”

“She’s a lightweight. Of course _she’s_ drunk.”

“Hey!” She said through breaths. “I am NOT a lightweight.”

“TWO-EIGHTY-FOUR FOR GENDRY!”

“Would you shut the fuck up!” Wylla shouted. “We can all count, you know?”

“I CAN’T!” The girls didn’t know or care who spoke up and simply dissolved into tipsy giggles on the spot.

“Holy fuck in the Sevens!” Meera suddenly exclaimed. She thrusted her phone high in the air. “Bejen messaged me back!”

“Who the fuck is Benjen?”

“Arya’s fit Uncle.”

“What’d he say?”

_“How big is your family?”_

“TWO-NINETY-TWO FOR AEGON!”

“He said, ‘Sounds good. Will discuss in detail at Robb’s wedding if you’re there. Keep in touch.’ Blushy-face emoji!”

“Wow.”

“Keep in touch…” Meera replied dreamily as Arya continued to down her beer at an alarming speed.

“As designated driver, it’s my responsibility to tell you when to slow down.” Beth smirked at her. “Luckily I’m a _fun_ designated driver.”

“TWO-FIFTY-FIVE FOR GENDRY. STILL IN THE LEAD.”

“I’ll get the next round.” Wylla smirked. “Who’s up for a little tequila.”

Arya groaned, but didn’t protest. She needed it if she wanted to get through tonight unscathed.

“TWO-SIXTY-EIGHT!”

“TWO-TWENTY-ONE!”

“DOUBLE TWENTY, DOULBLE FIFTEEN AND A FUCKING TEN.”

“Did I take this long to get the beers?” Arya sulked, taking a deep sip from her bottle.

“It took you, like, ten minutes.” She huffed at Beth’s words.

“EIGHTY FUCKIN’ PONITS! AEGON IS ON ONE-SEVENTY-EIGHT!”

Arya studied the room and rolled her eyes at the display. Everyone was on the edge of their seats, all for a game of darts. It was ridiculous. She couldn’t help but feel like cattle since they treated it like _she_ was the prize, not the ticket.

“SIXTY-NINE FROM GENDRY.” They all laughed deeply at that, _except_ for the women on the sidelines.

“That’s a sign from the Gods, lad!” Lem clapped Gendry on the shoulder roughly. “I think we know who’ll be getting lucky on this trip, ey?!” Arya scoffed as Gendry laughed among the group.

“Alright, alright.” Harwin said, calming the crowd. “That leaves Gendry on ONE-FIFFTY-TWO!”

“ALRIGHT SLUTS, I’M HERE!” Wylla brought a tray with her, Weasel following behind.

“We even got your typical chasers!”

“Fuck, I haven’t drank tequila properly in _sooo_ long.” Meera whined.

“Last time I did, I woke up in a different bed.” Mira admitted softly.

“We should fucking do it the sexual way and kiss, with salt on my lips and lime on yours!” Wylla cackled at the idea. “See if they notice, then.”

“Ladies, just hearing you say that is _music_ to my _ears!”_ Anguy grinned at them before turning to Aegon. “ONE-TWENTY-THREE FOR AEGON.”

“Well, that idea’s out.” Wylla pouted as everyone lined up the salt on the back of their hands, with the lime firmly gripped.

“ONE-TWENTY-NINE!” Arya shrugged and licked the back of her hand, grimacing while she threw back the shot, the liquid burning the _fuck_ out of her throat. She coughed and sputtered, like the rest of them (except for Meera who claimed she had no gag-reflex), and bit down hard on the lime, squeezing her eyes shut.

She’d forgot just how truly awful tequila tasted, but was reminded soon enough _just_ how good it felt. The warmth spread in her chest and instantly she felt flushed. As the live band struck up a rendition of the Chili Pepper’s ‘Can’t Stop’, she abandoned her seat and headed to the dance floor with Meera, Weasel, and Wylla in tow.

Four minutes of thumping slap-bass, uncontrollable dance moves, and still they shouted louder than the music, somehow piercing through the loud speakers.

“EIGHTY-TWO FOR EGG!”

“NINETY-EIGHT FOR GEN!”

“FIFTY-FOUR!”

“FIFTY-ONE!”

“THIRTY-EIGHT!”

“FORTY-FOUR!”

“FOURTEEN!”

“SIX!”

The room went silent. Even the _band_ stopped playing, forcing them to return to their seats. It was the final showdown, the atmosphere said it all.

“Aegon’s going for the double-seven.” Meera looked at Arya, amused. “He’ll win if he gets it.”

She couldn’t see very well, but the groan that went up throughout the bar painted it clear.

“DOUBLE-NINE!”

“That’s a bust!”

“UP THE GENDRY!”

Arya stood up on her seat.

“A bullseye? Are you fucking joking me, mate?”

“The first one of the game and you need a double fucking three!”

“Classic Gendry!”

Gendry held his hands up in surrender, bowing lowly before flicking his eyes up to hers. He sent a wink before Aegon took his place. They held no amusement, however. His purple orbs were set and serious, determined to win the game.

“A DOUBLE-SIX!” Arya exhaled a breath of relief.

“He’s going for the double-one!”

“ONE!” Harwin shouted. “THAT’S A BUST!”

The bar was rowdy at this point, with everyone screaming and shouting. She saw bets being placed, arguments over who would win.

“Is it just me, or is this really fucking weird?” Arya laughed

“It’s a fucking joke!” She said, giggling hysterically.

Arya was quick to bite her lip to hold in her laughter as the noise died down.

“It’s like a game of tennis.”

“They certainly aren’t as wealthy as a tennis player?”

“Let’s hope not as loud in bed, either.” They all had the clamp a hand over their mouths at that.

“A MISS!” Someone shouted.

“A FOUR!” Another scream.

“I’m so confused.” Meera whispered.

“Same.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“THAT’S A DOUBLE-ONE! A DOUBLE-FUCKING-ONE! GENDRY WATERS IS ON 0 FUCKING POINTS!”

The bar _erupted_ into a wall of noise.

_A weekend away with Gendry,_ she thought dully, _now that sounds terrifying._

Gendry’s fist pumped the air before he stalked over to her, where she stood perched on her chair, and picked her up by the waist. He looked so happy, easing her down to her feet and earning slaps on the back from the boys.

Everyone got pissed after that. The band began to play again, with the girls all planted on the dance-floor (despite Gendry’s ‘you shouldn’t be dancing on that foot’ look). It wasn’t long until the call for last drinks came, around two in the morning with Arya tipsy and tired. The band played their final song, ‘closing time’, the classic last song of every bar ever.

Arya drowsily followed Beth outside the bar, eyes bugging wide once she saw the van.

“Holy fuck, Beth!” She exclaimed. “Is this your dad’s wagon?” They’d called it the shaggin’ wagon when they were little; it seemed funny at the time.

“Mine now. It’s how I make extra cash.” She said smugly. “Alright, anyone who wants a lift can pay up _right now._ Ten bucks a lift, thank you very much.”

Her wagon fit seven, _not_ including herself, and Arya found herself squished in the back, in the middle of Gendry and Wylla (who paid her ten in fucking coins like the bitch she was).

Weasel, Meera _and_ Mira sat up the front, screeching loudly to the terrible pop songs on the radio. Aegon, who sat in the passenger seat, spoke softly to Beth. Wylla had already fallen asleep, completely unaware of her surroundings.

“That girl can sleep anywhere.” Gendry said softly, in awe.

“I envy her for it.” She replied. A beat passed.

“I never thanked you for the ticket.” She turned and glared.

“You were too busy showing your ‘male dominance’.”

“Are you grumpy with me?” He wore a sheepish look.

“I’m cranky that I became the prize, not the fucking ticket!” She snarled out, crossing her arms firmly over her chest.

“I’m sorry. When I’m with the guys, I lose my common sense.” He began honestly. “But I can assure you, the only one who saw _you_ as the prize is your _pretty-boy-boss.”_ She scoffed. “You’re the one who said he doesn’t even like football. Believe me, I just want to see the Crows crush your precious Wolves.”

“Really?” She said, fiercely looking up.

“Well, getting to know my player has always been a top priority on my list, too.” Her face felt hot, from flattery and alcohol, and even Wylla’s snores couldn’t distract her from the way Gendry leaned in closer, eyes so focused and intent on her face.

“Well,” She began thickly. “You’ll be in for a rude awakening, with the Crows and all.”

“What about you?” He said softly. “Because I _really_ need to know more about you, Stark.”

At first, his hand put a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. Then it was caressing cheek. Suddenly, it was softly at her chin, gently tipping her head upwards to meet his steamy look.

Arya closed her eyes. She could feel his breath. _Just an inch or two closer…_

A high-pitched scream shattered the moment, with Arya’s body slamming into Gendry’s. She held onto his forearm like her life depended on it, his other arm encasing her protectively, straight into his firm chest.

The wheels locked and skidded across the icy roads, spinning out in a 360 turn as Beth desperately tried to regain control of the van. She was shaking. _Please,_ Arya thought, _not again._

The van screeched to a stop, it’s headlights illuminating the Wolfswood with the city looming ahead. She didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath until she exhaled loudly.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly. She still gripped his arm tightly.

“Is everyone okay?!” Beth screamed. She sounded frantic. “No one’s hurt, right! Oh fuck, I’m so fucking sorry. Arya, I’m _so, so_ sorry.”

Arya breathed and looked from Gendry’s chest into Beth’s pained expression.

“I’m fine.” She said.

But she wasn’t, not to her own ears. It was a reminder that, maybe, she’d never fully recovered from all those years ago.

_I’m so sorry, Daddy._

“What the fuck did you run over?” Wylla asked groggily, rubbing her eyes as she attempted to sit up.

Nervous laughter followed, and as a few minutes passed, Beth cautiously started back up the car. The chatter started back up again, with Beth driving painfully slow.

Arya looked away from Gendry’s curious eyes.

_I’m so, so sorry…_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the wait. It's been a busy month with axgweek and having three major assignments due the same week. Ahh, I just want to be done with school.
> 
> Enjoy :)

**Chapter Nine  
** **Syrio Says**

 

“Look at you. A woman all grown up.” Arya knew his name sounded familiar; _Petyr Baelish._ “Your father would be proud, I’m sure of it.”

_Littlefinger,_ she thought bitterly, shrugging the bag higher up on her shoulder to distract her from punching him in his smug face right then and there. Robb would be filthy if he knew he gave up his office chair for _Littlefinger_.

“Do you happen to know _everyone_ we interview?” Aegon whispered in disbelief after Petyr invited them into his office.

“This one’s a real wanker.” She hushed back before straightening and planting on a sweet smile. “It’s nice to see you after all these years, Mr. Baelish.”

“Please, call me Petyr.”

“A real slimy git, too, it seems.” Arya held back a snort of laughter.

“Take a seat.” He gestured for the two tacky armchairs at his desk.

“I had no idea you moved from the Eyrie, Mr. Baelish.” She could barely contain the smirk at his annoyance. “I wasn’t expecting you here as Winterfell’s City Manager.”

“I’ve found success easier here up North than the mountains, Arya. How is your mother?” _Safe without you looming near her._

“Perfectly fine.” Her mouth betrayed the words in her head. “Still teaching.”

“Has she moved on from Ned, yet? She’s a fiercely loyal wife, or so I’ve seen.”

Arya clenched her teeth.

“She’s been on a few dates here and there.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sincere, judging by the smirk. “That was insensitive, wasn’t it. I heard your sister married early last year. I do wonder if my invitation got lost.”

“I couldn’t say.” Aegon looked nervously between the two.

“Perhaps we should get into the interview?” He broke in after clearing his throat. “Arya?”

She was too busy glaring at the seed to see Aegon motioning for her bag.

“Yes. Let’s get to the interview!”

She looked away, then, grabbing the notebook from her bag and opening to a blank page as Aegon began reading the questions aloud.

“First of all, we should address _why_ the Weirwood is being cut down.” Aegon cleared his throat again.

“It’s all in the best interest of Winterfell, you see. With certain historical sights discovered around the city over the developing years, it’s become a renowned tourist destination for foreigner’s and history buffs.”

“Wouldn’t you say the Weirwood is its own historical sight?” Arya began stiffly. “They’re a rare sight, nowadays, with none in the South and few in the North. How exactly would destroying an Ancient tree of historical value help Winterfell as a tourist destination?”

“I was getting to that before I was interrupted.” She could feel Aegon’s heated gaze trained on the side of her face. “It’s the ‘Heart of the City’, where everything interesting lies closely. Three blocks down and you’ll find the Museum that holds the ancient crypts of the Kings of Winter; Just a street down and there’s the Winterfell library, a building that’s stood there for generations holding scrolls and pieces no other Library in the South _or_ North holds. Across the ‘Godswood’, and you’ll find Winter Town, Winterfell’s biggest square of shops and opposite of that, there’s the Bran the Builder memorial. The ‘Heart of the City’, indeed.”

“And in the middle of it all is the place where those Kings and Queens of Winter prayed and worshipped their Gods; another piece of historical history for Winterfell.”

“Religion has run its course in Westeros. You can quote me on that, Miss Stark.” She didn’t, but Aegon did.

“What is to replace the park?”

“Nothing’s set in stone, but I believe the Mayor is planning for a high-rise hotel”

“With his own company, no?”

“Frey Towers is the main candidate for the lot, yes.”

“So the Mayor is simply looking out for his own interest, not the people of Winterfell?” Arya fumed. “To earn more money than he already has?”

“To earn money for Winterfell.” His eyes flashed whit his sly expression. “Careful, Miss Stark. One would think you hold a biased view.”

“How does this help Winterfell?” _Littlefinger_ rolled his eyes like this was obvious.

“It helps small businesses expand outside of Winterfell, the city gathers more attention from outsiders. There’s more funding for the Government, more flourishing attractions and events, and more accommodation close to main attractions and sight.”

“Do you agree with these plans?”

“If it’ll help Winterfell grow as a city, then yes; I’m all for it.”

“Are you aware of the petition going around?”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite familiar with it.” Petyr grinned. “Although, I’ve been told it’s been a slow start to the five-thousand signatures.”

_“Five-thousand signatures?”_ Arya eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “We were told it was only fifty?”

“Fifty-hundred. And even then, if it gets the five-thousand, it’s only for us to reconsider. Nothing is set in stone.”

“So if your community cries out for you to _not_ do this, there’s a chance you’ll go through with it anyways?”

“A possibility.” Arya scowled. “Out with the old, in with the new.”

“Is there any chance of a statement from Mr Frey?” Aegon asked.

“When it all becomes officially announced and this petition is dealt with, I’m sure the Mayor will address the city with a formal statement.”

“There were rumours of a Northern memorial in the Winter’s War replacing the Park. Why the change of heart?”

“Isn’t there already enough memorials in Winterfell?”

“None of which honour the lost soldiers who died all those years ago. Wouldn’t you say that would be a humbler idea than a hotel; to keep the tree and respect the fallen instead.”

“That was never even on the table. I can confirm it was nothing more than a rumour.”

“And what is your opinion the accusations on Mr. Frey, laundering illegal money into his business, avoiding taxes and wrongfully paying his employees?” Petyr raised a thin eyebrow, his eyes positively glowing with mirth.

“And do you have any evidence to back this up, Miss Stark?”

“I never accused him myself, Mr. Baelish, only asked for your opinion.” There was a pregnant pause.

“Lies.” He stated firmly. “Fake news running through the media, once again. I hope we can trust the B&W to not conform to such immoral behaviour.”

“Of course.” Aegon replied hastily.

“How exactly does a Southerner convince the Northmen to butcher their history?” Arya pressed on.

“The same way he convinced them to vote for him in the election.” Petyr sighed. “It’s clear to see who you’ve sided with, Miss Stark. Understandable, too. I can assure you, _if_ the petition works, we’ll find a way to compromise.” Arya rolled her eyes. “Perhaps we’ll keep the tree and the garden; it’s very aesthetically pleasing, don’t you think?”

“It isn’t there for the aesthetic.” Arya said hotly. “And putting a great-big building in front of it won’t be pleasing to the eye at all.”

“No one visits the Godswood anymore. It’s either no religion, the Seven or some foreign cultish view – The Old Gods are finished. Take a survey, if it’ll help. The ‘Heart of the City’ is just wasted space.”

“Says a fucking Southerner! Says the Mayor; a bloody Southerner!” Her face flushed as she gripped the sides to her chair. “You can’t possibly understand how important this tree is to those of Northern descent. You’re ignoring the deeper message the Weirwood has; you’re _ignoring_ the value of the tree with so few left in the North. How can you possibly justify your actions for a fucking hotel?”

“You’re just like your father.” Littlefinger remarked with a smirk. “A quick temper and a slow mind.”

Arya actually _growled_ when she stood abruptly.

“Thank you for your time today, Mr Baelish. I’m sure the interview will be a great addition to the article.” Aegon was quick to tug at her sleeve.

“It’s been a pleasure.” His usual creepy grin came poking out, once again. “Give your mother a hello from me when you see her next, Arya. I’d _love_ to catch up and have a chat.”

Aegon didn’t stop dragging her out until they were out of the building. He didn’t even stop to smile at Ros, _Littlefinger’s_ assistant when she perked up from her desk and turned her attention his way.

“What the fuck was that?” She visibly blanched from his intense gaze. “You completely went off track! You let your anger get the better of you.”

“I’m sorry.” She said quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just – _he insulted my dad and made comments about my mum._ I can’t _not_ react to that.” Ageon sighed and rubbed a hand at his face.

“You can’t mix personal with professional, Arya. You need to view this unbiased. I get that he was an arsehole and taking digs at your family – Hells, I wanted to punch the fucker myself when he insulted you to your face. But sometimes, in this profession, this is the unpleasant shit we deal with.”

Arya sighed. “I’m sorry.” She said once more. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” He broke in. “I’ve lost my temper with a few arseholes myself.” She smiled at this.

“Really?”

“Only a few times.” He flushed. “And don’t look at me like that; I just saw you ready to pounce on the bloke.”

“Have _you_ ever pounced on a bloke?” She smirked. “Or at least clocked one on the nose?”

“Not in an interview.” He answered honestly. “High School is a different story, though.”

“How about we get some lunch and you can humour me. My treat for covering my arse and taking notes.”

“I didn’t just cover your arse, I _saved_ your arse from committing an act of assault.” Aegon rolled his eyes. “But that sounds fair enough. I wanted to go over the notes and draw up a plan on how you’ll write this thing, anyways, since you’ll be away for the weekend. Jaqen wants this thing out ASAP.”

“Perfect!” She grinned. “Shall we go see Nina, then?”

“Oh, fuck off!”

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

_“What exactly does that coach of yours have you doing to be earning those bruises?” Her father’s voice was heavy with the Northern accent, clearly amused as he nodded at her scabbed knees and bruised shins._

_“Yesterday, it was standing before a flight of stairs.” Arya shrugged and climbed the stool to get a packet of crisps. “Balancing on one leg, too.”_

_“How’s that supposed to help with your football?”_

_“Syrio says it keeps me on my toes.”_

_“I don’t know how I feel about this lad, little wolf.” She rolled her eyes as his gaze returned to her legs._

_“Syrio says every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.” She grinned at him triumphantly after reaching the crisps in the back of the high cupboard; her mother had barred her off snacks until she cleaned her room (her dad only shook his head and chuckled, pretending not to see)._

_“He says I’ll be chasing cats next lesson.” She dragged the stool back behind the bench and joined him there._

_“Cats?” he questioned before understanding dawned on him quickly. “Ah, ‘Syrio says’…”_

_“He says they’re as quiet as shadows and light as feathers; the perfect balance for a footballer.” She shoved a handful of crisps before continuing, “You have to be quick to catch them.”_

_“He’s right about that.” The cheeky comment about her mother flew right over her head. “You ever think he’s too rough and I’ll find you a different coach.”_

_“I like Syrio, dad. His lessons are fun.”_

_“They sound dangerous to me.”_

_“And what if Jon were in my place?” She argued. “Would you have the same objections with him?” He sighed and laughed in a tiresome breathy way._

_“You’re a stubborn thing, aren’t you? All you kids were doomed with your mother’s attitude.”_

_“You’re stubborn, too!” She protested. “It took you forever to agree on Jon’s party.”_

_“A valid thing to be stubborn about, I think.”_

_“It was his eighteenth.”_

_“You’re right.” He grinned, turning to ruffle her hair. “But I’m never stubborn with you.”_

_“You’re weak when it comes to your ‘precious’ girls.” Bran strolled in, rolling his eyes as he went straight for the fridge. “Don’t even try to deny it, dad.”_

_“Oh, shut it. Mum coddles you so much—”_

_“Piss off!”_

_“It’s true.” Their father watched on with amusement, never raising his voice to scold Bran for his language – according to him, they were just words._

_Don’t know why.” He finally piped in. “You nearly killed your poor mother with that fall.”_

_Bran scowled and drank straight from the milk-carton._

**_Bzzz. Bzzz._ **

_“That’s disgusting.” Arya commented and glanced around for the noise._

_“You’re disgusting.” It sounded like it was coming from her chest._

**_Bzzz. Bzzz._ **

It took a good thirty seconds for her to realise where she was. She wasn’t in the kitchen or her family’s old house; her father wasn’t beside her and she wasn’t arguing with Bran over milk.

 Arya was sprawled on her couch, her father was dead and the old house belonged to some other family now. She blinked groggily. _So they’re back._

She must’ve been lying there for minutes, trying to comprehend what just happened when her phone vibrated against her chest for the third time.

**_Bzzz. Bzzz._ **

She fumbled for it and squinted at the screen, one arm draped across her forehead.

**Text From: Gendry Waters**  
U coming to training or just late?  
I know ur busy

**Text From: Gendry Waters  
** I’m assuming no??

**Text From: Gendry Waters**  
A notice would be nice next time.  
Or a reply

Arya sighed and locked her phone, groaning loudly. _He’s pissed._ A few seconds after wallowing in self-pity, she unlocked her phone to reply; her eyes drifted to an old message.

**Text From: Gendry Waters**  
Missed u today. Went down 5-1  
to the Lions. Their bloody good!!  
Better see u at training

She couldn’t help smile at his spelling mistake despite the guilt. Arya hoped he wouldn’t be _too_ pissed after explaining things. She sighed, tapped the text box and typed her reply.

**Text From: Arya Stark**  
I’m sorry. It’s been crazy busy here.   
Accidentally fell asleep. Promise I’ll  
be there Wednesday.

It wasn’t _exactly_ a lie. She had been crazy busy, with her and Aegon opting to stay away from the office and hole up under her roof, relentlessly working on the article to the brink of exhaustion. After he finally left, Arya was so knackered she fell face-down into the couch and drifted off right then and there.

**Bzzz. Bzzz.**

She glanced back to her phone.

**Text From: Gendry Waters**  
There’s still plenty of time to come  
and train up Stark

He was right. It was only a-quarter-to-six, fifteen minutes in.

**Text From: Arya Stark**  
Sorry Gen. I’m so exhausted and  
sleep-deprived. I really just can’t  
tonight. Sorry

She _was_ tired, but that had never stopped her before.

**Text From: Gendry Waters**  
Okay.

Arya frowned at the message. It was _practically a_ K-dot. She fell back into the couch with a huff.

**_Bzzz. Bzzz._ **

She perked up and scrambled for her phone.

**Text From: Gendry Waters**  
Get some good rest and stop over-working.  
I’m sure its already brilliant. I need u ready   
for Friday nights game and AWAKE when the   
Crows crush ur Wolves.

She let out a sigh of relief. _So he wasn’t one to hold grudges._

Arya was _just_ about to reply when her front-door flew open and she was met with her brother. He held a cheap bottle of wine in one hand, Summer’s leash in the other. Nymeria immediately pounced at her brother while Bran busied himself by fiddling with Summer’s collar.

“What the fuck?” She questioned when he finally looked up, leaving the dogs to play with themselves and giving her a sheepish smile.

“I brought wine.”

“I can see that. I’m just confused as to why _you’re_ here.”

“Wow. I can leave if you want?” She rolled her eyes and patted the spot beside her.

“Come sit, you sook.” He did as she said. “Now, why are you actually here?”

“Can’t I visit my sister randomly without some ulterior motive?”

“It’s a Monday night.” She gave him a pointed look as Bran opened the bottle. He handed it to her and huffed.

“Fine. Meera told me about the accident.” Arya moaned and took a swig from the bottle, passing it back to her brother.

“What— _it wasn’t even an accident.”_ He rolled his eyes and drew his head back for a sip of wine. “It was an incident. A _bump_ on the road.”

“A bump that has you avoiding your training, avoiding your coach just to avoid questions that _aren’t_ even being asked.” She snatched the bottle back and stupidly gulped it down.

“How did you even know I was home?”

“I didn’t.” He shrugged. “I just assumed. If you were here, I’d intervene; if you weren’t, I’d leave it be. But since you had no reason to _not_ show up to training last week, I expected you here, really.”

“I was asleep, like, five-minutes ago. I’m bloody exhausted.” She sighed. “And how did you know—”

“Meera told me who was _obviously_ told by one of your teammates. Gods, I feel like you shouldn’t have to ask that.”

Bran took another swig to fill the silence, ignoring his sister’s glare and wincing after swallowing. “This taste bitter to you?”

“All alcohol taste bitter.”

“No. Jojen and I went to that new nightclub near that _Ironwood_ restaurant and I had some fucking delicious blue-drink that tasted like lolly-water. You know, what Sansa used to drink in high school.”

“You drank it, too.” Bran looked horrified. “Oh, everyone did, you twat. It’s no secret!”

“I’m not— _stop trying to put me off topic.”_ He took another sip before handing it back to her. “Being tired never put you off ten years ago.”

“I’m twenty-six and it’s my first year back—”

“Don’t bullshit. You’ve always been persistent with _everything_ you’re passionate about, despite your level of exhaustion or sickness.” He sighed. “I’m not stupid, Arya. It scared you; the accident or incident or whatever-the-fuck.”

“Of course it scared me. It scared everyone in the bloody van.”

“Fine.” Bran hushed out in an irritated tone. “But you’re still shaken up about it while everyone goes on about their day. Which is understandable. What you went through was—”

“Don’t.” She said quickly. “Please don’t.”

“Is it such a crime to talk about it? It’s healthy.”

“Not for me, it isn’t.”

“Then why are you struggling to show up to training? Why has football – which _you’ve_ been loving since signing back up – suddenly become inconvenient? Keep this all bottled up for so long and you’re bound to explode.”

“I’ve talked to you.” She argued. “I’ve talked to Sans, I’ve talked to mum – Seven Hells, I’ve even talked to fucking Sandor!”

“Your family, Arya. Who never _experienced_ the same thing you did, but sure as fuck grieved just as much. We can’t truly listen if the same thoughts run through our heads. Talk to your teammates, talk to your boss, talk to your coach. It’s not hard to see something’s up.” She sighed, threw back the bottle and breathed in deeply. Silence filled the tension.

 “ _They’re back again.”_ She finally spoke. “Maybe, I don’t know… it was only the first time.”

“The dreams?”

“Yeah.” She mumbled.

“I’m sorry, Arya.” His voice came in soothingly, a low rumble that had her swallowing down the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” She said softly, letting herself be pulled into his warm embrace. It was a quick hug before he pulled away roughly, intensely gazing down at her.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. Just don’t give up on football. It’s so easy to see how happy it makes you – why you gave up in the first place will forever baffle me.” Bran ran a hand through his hair, scooting closer to his sister who was currently looking down at her fiddling hands. “You can’t give up. You’re too good at it. It makes you confident and go out more, with Weasel and Wylla and Meera. Most importantly, it would make dad proud. It always did.” She looked up, then, staring into the depths of Bran’s grey/blue orbs that _always_ seemed to know so much. She blinked back the tears and cleared her throat.

“He’d be so proud, Arya. Of the article, of football, of you. Everything you’ve achieved since.” He breathed heavily. “Go to your next training, win your next game, lose you next game – don’t give up!”

“I never intended to.” Bran smiled, then, pulling her into another tight squeeze.

“Good.” He said. “Because you _seriously_ need you jump on that coach of yours right away.”

Arya rolled her eyes and took another drink.

_‘Fear cuts deeper than swords.’_

She smiled as the phrase came to her. Another one of Syrio’s quirky lessons; another quote to push her on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the lack of Gendry, but I promise he'll feature quite heavily in the next few chapts ;)  
> Fingers crossed he'll appear in the next episode, too.
> 
> I wasn't too happy with this one but I just needed it out bc the next few chapters have been in my mind since I wrote the first chapter :))


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the two-week wait, but I'm back on the Saturday/Sunday schedule now, so look out for the next one on either of those days.  
> If Gendry shows up in tomorrow nights episode, you may even get an earlier update lol.

**Chapter Ten  
** **The Trip**

 

“Three home games in a row; what luck is this?”   

“Rotten luck, really.” Brienne replied dryly at Mandie’s happy exclamation. “Come next round and everyone will be at their best. It’ll be three away games, then.”

“Lighten up, Brienne.” Weasel teased and patted her head from where she sat astride her shoulders, hooking in the net to the goalpost. Arya bit back a smile as she was reminded of Gendry’s own broad shoulders.

“Yeah, Brie. Lighten the fuck up and go shag your boyfriend!”

“Are you serious, Manderly?” The tall woman rounded in on a scowling Wylla with Weasel gripping on to the blonde’s head for dear life.

“Fess up and I won’t have to mention him every minute!” She demanded.

Arya only rolled her eyes and continued to peg in the net with her foot. She glanced down the field at Gendry’s booming laugh echoing across the field. He was helping Beth, Erena and Donnie set up the other goalpost while Mira and Alysane went around with the wheelie-bin, setting up the corner flags. Lyanna happily sat on the bench, eating a meat-pie as she watched the others set up the field.

“Who are we playing tonight?”

“The Cerwyn Cobras’. Gen said they’re on the bottom of the ladder, but we’re down on two.”

“Who’s not coming?” Wylla asked bitterly.

“Willow and Julie.” Brienne replied as she squatted to let Weasel clamber off her back. “Apparently Willow has some family thing on and Julie’s got the flu.”

“Damn, Tarth, you have an arse of steel.” Arya whistled and laughed as Weasel lightly swatted Brienne’s cheek.

“That _boyfriend_ of yours must appreciate it, huh Brie?”

“Fuck off Wylla.”

Arya, Mandie and Weasel all laughed and left the bickering pair behind as they joined Lyanna on the bench.

“Nice to see you helping.” Arya said dryly as the young seventeen-year-old grinned cheekily.

“Nice to see you here.” Arya scowled as she smirked. “Four training sessions and a game. Pick up your game, Stark.”

“She’s got a point.” Gendry entered along with the others, shooting her a sheepish glance. “Where’s Gemma?”

“She’ll be here in fifteen.” Mandie nodded to her phone. “She forgot the bloody kit and only realised half-way here.”

“It’s so fucking cold.” Wylla exclaimed loudly, immediately huddling next to Arya for warmth. “I better get some time on the bench, Waters. I can barely breathe in this weather.”

“All the more reason to keep you on the field.”

“Weasel, that was scathing.” Arya complimented the small woman.

“But in all seriousness, what’s the go with positions tonight, Gendry?”

“Honestly Brienne, I have no fucking clue. Let’s just go with the game and see if that works, yeah?” Gendry gaze turned to Arya. “You, I need to talk to. The rest of you can get your gear on; Gemma won’t be too long.”

Arya sighed and escaped from Wylla’s clingy grip, following Gendry to the shed to grab some equipment.

“Honest to the Gods, I was _very_ busy Wednesday. My pervy boss wanted the first draft by today and I’m currently running on too much coffee and, like, five hours of sleep right now.” She began nervously, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“Relax, Arya. I’m not here to grill you. I just want to know what’s the go with tomorrow?” Arya’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, Gendry laughing and lightly shaking his head at the expression.

“Oh fuck, I almost… _this is really last minute, huh?_ ” He chuckled again, unlocking the shed door and letting her step in first.

“Just a bit – _can you flick that light on for me?”_ She did as he said while he continued, “So, what’s the plan?”

“How about you come over around seven-thirty?” She suggested as he fished for the balls. “Jon said we can check-in around ten and it’s about a four-hour drive without traffic. You can come over and drop your truck off and I’ll drive us up there. Nymeria’s already at Bran’s so—”

“You think you’re driving?” He laughed. “There’s no way in the Seven Hells I’m letting you drive for that long and spending money on fuel after giving me free tickets _and_ free accommodation. You’re kidding yourself, Stark.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Nope. Not happening.” He said stubbornly, throwing the net over his shoulder, gesturing for her to step outside as he flicked off the light and shut up behind him. “How about you text me your address and I’ll come pick you up around seven-thirty, yeah?” She opened her mouth to protest. “I’ll give you a rest tonight if you agree.”

“I should tell the girls you’re bribing me.” She said defiantly, crossing her arms against her chest.

“What’ll be, Stark?”

“I’ll take the bloody rest”

“Smart choice.”

When they returned to the bench, The Cobras’ bus pulled up beside the fields with Gemma arriving not too long after.

They pulled on their shirts, made sure their hair was swept out of the face and began their usual pre-warm up routine. First, a quick shuttle-run (Gendry didn’t want them to lose their energy too quickly), then a few drills focusing on passing and placement while Gendry helped Erena with her own keeping drill, and just to pass time were shots; it wasn’t exactly all that effective, but it took their minds off the game _and_ it helped Erena out.

When Gendry returned from talking to the match officials and the ref was done checking their boots, he began reading out positions. “Back-line, you know your positions. Up-front, Lyanna and Beth, in the middle Arya and Mira and on the wings, Gemma and Weasel. Wylla’s on bench and Erena, obviously, is keeping.

“Now, the Cobras’ _are_ on the bottom but that _doesn’t_ mean you can get all cocky about it. They’re not the strongest, clearly, but a smug attitude coming into this game will be our undoing. Now, we suffered a huge loss last week, so let that be a reminder to keep yourself in check. Never assume to win a game; never assume to lose a game. Believe you _can_ win a game and play your hardest.” The ref’s whistle blew loud and clear in the chilly air. “Play nice, ladies. I don’t want any narkiness like last week.” Gendry pointedly glared at Wylla. “I’m talking to you, Manderly.” Arya had to drag her with the rest of them as she was too busy pulling faces at Gendry than following them onto the field.

The Cobras won the toss and had the kick-off; the Cats’ took their positions, eagerly waiting for the whistle. When it sounded in the wind, they bounded into play.

They weren’t playing to their full potential – Brienne had told them to lay off excessive running to conserve energy – and it showed. Yet, despite the easy-going nature of the game, Mira had won the ball minutes after kick off. With five games into the season, they were starting to get good at the ‘triangle method’. Gendry grilled it into their brains twenty-four/seven to the point where the girls all groaned in unison.

“NICE PASS, WEASEL!” Gendry’s voice boomed over the fields; there wasn’t much of a crowd, this game. With the cool biting wind and no premier men’s game, only a few sat in camp-chairs at the sidelines, most of them Cobras’ supporters. “DOWN THE LINE, CASSEL! ARYA’S OPEN!”

Beth’s _brilliant_ ball had glided straight to Arya’s feet. She turned on her heel and brought it even _further_ down the line, waiting for a familiar face to peek through the crowd of Cobras’.

“Lyanna’s!” The young girl cried out just as Arya’s foot came down to meet the ball, sending it flying into the box a few steps away from Lyanna. Arya cursed herself for over-estimating, but was glad to see Lyanna quick to gain control. Who shot on goal, however, had _no_ control.

The ball shot over the crossbar, missing the target by a long-shot.

“Never mind, Lya.” Arya called out as the players walked up field for the goalkick.

This continued to happen for twenty-minutes. The Cats’ always had possession of the ball, but couldn’t follow through the shot. It was utterly frustrating.

But finally, with Arya _annoyingly_ moved up to striker with Beth dropping down to Midfield, the golden goal came.

Wylla, now on field _replacing_ Weasel, kicked a brilliant ball down the line to Julie, who stepped past a defender and crossed it into Arya.

Her foot came cracking down, hitting the ball in that _spot_ which made it skim across the grass like a flat stone skipped across the water. It slammed into the bottom-right corner of the net, rebounding out of the goalpost as the official’s whistle sounded in the air and the linesmen’s flag rose up high.

The Cats’ cheered loudly, Wylla bounding over to Arya and crushing her in a tight embrace.

Gendry took her off, after that. Grinning and congratulating her. It was an intimate affair, with just the two of them on the bench, so invested in the game – it was sure to mirror Saturday night’s game in the stands.

They jumped up in unison when a defender fouled Beth in the box, earning them 2 – 0 over the _Cobras’_ after she took the dottie. They whistled when Brienne _booted_ a brilliant ball down the field and cheered when Donella _fucking_ Hornwood went for a run down the line herself, making it half-way before a midfielder took it off her feet.

The half-time whistle blew not long after and the girls came off the field smiling. Gendry complimented them, criticised them and gave them advice.

“We’re winning, but we’re _also_ bunching. Open up and find the gaps; the Cobras’ are worse than us with space. It’ll be easy if you just spread out.”

“Gendry,” Lyanna whined. “can you take me off, please? I’m struggling in the cold.”

“She forgot her bloody puffer.” Alysane shook her head at her little sister.

“She can borrow mine.” Beth said, smiling, chucking the teenager her puffer.

“Alright, Lyanna comes off, Arya’s back in Midfield and push Beth back up-front.”

The official blew his whistle, forcing them back on the field into play.

The Cats’ kicked off and Julie zig-zagged through the players, placing the ball just in front of Wylla who had to _really_ run to reach it before the defender did. She pulled a step-over, feigning left but running right towards the goal.

Wylla crossed it into Mira, who looked for an open player; each girl was blocked by a defender, leaving Mira _no choice_ but to crack it from outside the box.

And _by the Gods_ was it a cracker of a goal. It was like a strike of lighting, flying past the Keepers head and smashing into the back of the net. The Cats’ let out a yelp of glee, surrounding Mira and embracing her.

“WHERE YOU BEEN ALL THIS TIME, FORRESTER?” Gendry sounded delighted as he shouted from the sideline.

The Cobras’ kicked off and fought the good fight; they pushed themselves to their limit, beating Brienne’s strategic defensive line and putting a brilliant shot on goal, right in the top left corner of the goalposts.

Erena’s hands _barely_ grazed the ball, falling to the ground in a heap as the ball rebounded from the net as the whistle cut the cheers from the Cobras’ supporters.

They kicked off, playing the triangle came and came out victorious. Arya was _barely_ in the box when she received the ball from Beth, panicked and put a sketchy shot on goal; the poor Keeper fumbled and let it slip between the gloves.

Arya laughed in surprise, her heart soaring as high as the sound of the whistle.

“What fucking luck!” Wylla said bitterly. “I put a shit shot on goal and it misses.”

“Oh, come off it Manderly.” Mira joined her, throwing an arm over Arya’s shoulder. “Her ball was _actually_ on target, _yours_ went wayward over the crossbar.”

“I won’t forgive that until you get a hat-trick, Stark.” Wylla grumbled, trudging back to her position and hiding the smile at her friend’s success.

The game looked well for the Cats’. 4 – 1 in front.

In the last ten minutes of the game, Lyanna and Arya were back up-front together and watching on in horror as the Cobras’, once again, slipped through the defence line and put a shot on goal.

Only this time, Erena’s brilliant Keeper skills prevailed. They screamed their delight, jumping up and down, even as the ball came raining down at them from Erena’s big-arse-boot.

Arya was the one to jump on it, turning on her heel and escaping the defender’s trap. She ran it down the field, laughing as she pulled a successful Cruyff turn, leaving the poor girl flustered in her wake.

Lyanna was wide open and _ready_ to bound off as Arya crossed it a way away from the girl’s position.

She ran onto the ball, chipping it over the Keeper’s head with ease and cockily winking at Arya.  

She was heavily reminded of Rickon at her smug attitude.

The game was over in a matter of minutes, the Winterfell Cats’ cheering loudly as they came off field.

“We _really_ need to work out a chant for out wins, yeah?” Erena suggested, already stripping off her thick gloves and Keeper’s jersey.

“It wouldn’t be very ferocious though, would it?” Weasel laughed. “Nothing scary about cats’?”

“You’d be surprised.” Arya announced to the group as they reached Gendry. “My old coach used to make me chase cats for traning. Said it ‘kept me on my toes’.” Arya smiled at the memory. “Isn’t that silly?”

It was the first fragment of her past she’d mentioned to the team.

“Maybe _I_ should make you chase cats’?” Gendry smirked at her.

“Gods no! It was torture.”

“Are we going out to celebrate?”

“You girls can.” Gendry answered Brienne’s question. “Me and Stark have got an early start.” Arya pouted. “Don’t even _try_ it, Manderly. I refuse to deal with a four trip with a hungover Arya.”

“She is a mess after a night out.” Weasel agreed. Lucky for them, the under-sixteen boys had game after them, and they escaped the complications of taking down the nets.

As the girls went off to shower, Arya stayed to quickly chat to Gendry before she followed them. Just as she approached, a few players bombarded him before they went on field.

“Come to watch a _real_ team play, Waters!”

“Don’t be an arse, Marcus, Arya here could run _circles_ around the lot of you.”

“Well, with an _arse_ like that, I’d let her.” The boys dissolved into laughter as Gendry shook his head.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Arya teased, sidling up next to Gendry as Marcus grinned.

“Yes. I could give you a kiss too, if you like.”

“Alright Marcus, enough of that.” Gendry growled. He turned to her as the boys formed a circle near them, talking about that one ‘fucker’ from those damned ‘Karhold’ players.

“So, seven-thirty?” She reminded him.

“ _Seven-thirty.”_ He repeated, agreeing.

“Gendry’s got a date!” Marcus shouted. “No wonder he was salty; I was commenting on his girl’s arse.” Gendry sighed, mouthed an apology before turning to the boys.

“A date to the Crows and Wolves game, mind you.” That shut them up.

“I’ll see you later, Gen.” She said, heading off to the shower with a grin leaving him to deal with the cocky boys.

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

There was a knock at her door just as she got out of the shower.

“Just a minute!” She shouted, wrapping the towel around her wet skin and hurrying to the door. She almost died when she opened it.

“Oh, fuck!” She exclaimed loudly, shivering instantly at the cold wind. “Get the fuck in before I freeze.”

He barely moved, just taking her in as she rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

“It’s just a fucking towel.” She muttered softly, shaking her head and disappearing back into the bathroom. She heard the door shut a few seconds later as she clasped on her bra. Once fully dressed in her comfy black trackpants and Winterfell FC jumper, she left the bathroom and found Gendry with his hands in his pockets.

He was keenly observing her place; his eyes were everywhere, at every corner, and he only noticed her reappearance when they landed on her. She was giving him a once-over, with his nice khaki coat and tight jeans (a blessing for his bum).

“Nice place.”

“Thanks.” She said, gesturing for him to follow her to the kitchen. “I made coffee for the road, but didn’t know how you liked it so I left it black. There’s two travel mugs in that cabinet above your head. You can add milk or sugar, if you like.”

She fished out the milk from the fridge and pointed out the jar of sugar on the countertop to Gendry after he finished filling the mugs.

“How do you like your coffee?” He asked, adding a teaspoon of sugar to his own mug.

“Same as yours.” She glanced over her shoulder and watched him add a dash of milk.

“Haven’t you had too much coffee already?” he teased, repeating his actions in her mug before stirring generously for both.

“I’ve tamed it down, at least; usually, I’ll have it black.” He tsked at this. “Believe it or not, I’m actually more of a tea girl.

“One of those weeks?” She groaned and nodded.

“It’s been horrendous – _thank you.”_ She took a sip and _moaned_ after Gendry handed her the mug. He watched on in amusement. “You ready to hit the road?”

“Sure. Where’s your stuff? Haven’t brought too much for one night, I hope.” Arya scowled.

“No. Just my clothes and enough snacks for one person.” It was his turn to scowl then. “If you’re a good boy I might share.”

“Am I replacing your dog for the weekend?”

She sent him a cheeky grin before packing away the milk and sugar, beckoning him to follow her into the lounge room. She grabbed her duffle bag and hoisted it on her shoulder.

Gendry yanked the bag off her hands and laughed as she scowled.

“What’s with men and _always_ needing to prove their bloody masculinity.”

“I was just being nice.” He opened the passenger door of his Triton, gesturing with his free hand. “see?”

She slammed the door shut but smiled all the same.

“Are you exited?” Gendry’s eyes lightened up at the question as he started up his truck.

“Fuck yes. I don’t think I’ve _ever_ been so pumped for a game. I’ve never been to one.”

“Seriously?” He nodded, pulling out onto the road as she buckled in her seatbelt.

“Yeah. You been to many?”

“Loads.” She grinned. “My dad used to take us kids all the bloody time. We were lucky that way – we had the money to do it, and dad was good mates with the manager – Rodrik Cassel, at the time.”

Gendry went silent. Arya _hoped_ it didn’t sound too much like bragging; she got carried away with the answer.

“We never had the money.” He finally answered, indicating left and heading toward Kingsroad Highway. “Most of it was for school fees – fees mum wasn’t exactly _entitled_ to pay since it was only public school. She did it anyway.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“She’s stubborn.”

“So are you.” Arya rolled her eyes.

“She _always_ said I got my stubbornness from my father, but truthfully, it came from her. I hope I _never_ have the same morals or qualities he did.”

“Do you ever see him much?” In the break of the traffic, his blue eyes met hers.

“He’s dead. Some rupture in his body – _I’m not one hundred percent sure._ I guess alcohol really sums up his cause of death, really.” The light turned green and they were back in second gear, his gaze now focused out the windshield. “I never saw him much _even_ when he was alive. He had some other family he preferred. They were a picture of _health_ and _wealth._

“But some nights, when he’d drank too much at some tacky bar or filthy pub, he’d venture back to us. And _she’d_ always let him back in.” She noticed his knuckles whitening as they gripped the wheel. “When I was fourteen, I worked up the nerve to confront him. I was lucky he didn’t knock a few teeth out.”

Arya’s belly twisted and coiled. Their childhood had been so different. She’d come from a loving pack; his pack had been broken from the beginning. She couldn’t even imagine how _bitter_ he felt.

_It may have matched her own bitterness after the accident._

“He came knocking on the door a few months later, only this time ‘round, she _slammed_ the door in the prick’s face. I never saw him again after that.”

She bit her lip, deep in thought, studying his clenched jaw. He was being _so_ very open with her, telling a story that _must’ve_ been so difficult to retell. So _why_ couldn’t se be honest with him?

“Do you even wish to meet them?” At his confused expression, she added, “Your other family. The family _he_ chose?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I have two half-brothers and a half-sister. That’s _all_ I know – not their names, their faces or their personalities. And if I ever did meet them, how would that make me feel? Would I see how much better they are? Know _why_ my father chose them over me? How worthless would it make me feel?”

“You’re not worthless.” She fired off quickly. “You’re surrounded by friends and you coach the best first-division women’s team in the country.” He snorted.

“Tell _that_ to the KL Lions.”

“Fuck the KL Lions.” He laughed.

“You’re so small and feisty. It’s kind of endearing.” Gendry heaved in a breath. “If you’re cousin is _anything_ like you, I’m slightly nervous.” She rolled her eyes.

“Jon’s completely harmless. He _mostly_ just sulks.” She giggled, then. “If there’s anyone you need to look out for, it’s his girlfriend. _She’s_ my bad influence, you see.”

“Ah. Should I be worried?”

“Oh, yes. They all think you’re my boyfriend, thanks to Bran.”

 _Oh shit,_ she thought as his body stiffened, _did she really just blurt that out?_

 _“I could play that role.”_ She’d never heard his voice so gravelly.

_The fuck? What did that mean?_

His eyes gave no answer, only held her gaze before some honking arsehole broke the tension.

“Whoops.” He muttered, quick on the clutch to speed past the green light.

After that, the heat surrounding them was unmistakable. Even when she offered him the crisps, he’s cleared his throat before shaking his head.  

Oh, _why_ did she have to say that.

It was the thought that _consumed_ her mind, even as she drifted off in the passenger’s seat forty minutes _into_ the trip. It was _blissfully_ free of regret, dreams or thoughts, thank the Gods.

Gendry shook her awake when they reached the city of Castle Black four hours later. She flushed for being so out of it _and_ at his sheepish smile. The akward tension that had consumed the air in the car dissolved when they ate at some fast-food restaurant in some plaza, Arya _ducking_ in the bathroom and seeing the embarrassing lines that adorned her face from sleep.

He laughed loudly while she snapped at him, not caring who turned to look at the quiet nature of the shop.

“You’re an arsehole.” She grumbled, poking out her tongue as he opened the car door for her, once again. “And you eat like a pig.”

He only smiled and placed hiss free hand on the small of her back, guiding her up the big-step of the Triton.

Arya _desperately_ willed the heat in her cheeks to leave.

When they reached Mulls Town Towers, they argued over the parking sign (she was right about the times) and parked in front of the entrance.

“Gods be good, woman.” He muttered over her glare, following her into the high-rise and over to the front desk. The woman, _Gilly_ he nametag said, gave them a bright smile when they reached the desk.

“Hi, how can I help?” She asked, her smile growing brighter by the second.

“Hi,” Arya grinned back, with a baffled Gendry struggling to believe how _quickly_ she could switch on-and-off a scowl to a smile. “We’re here to pick up the keys to our rooms.” Arya dug through her bag until she had the forms Jon had faxed over at work. She handed it to Gilly and patiently waited as she read through the forms.

“The man I spoke to said check-in was around ten but I know how things can get off schedule.”  She babbled nervously as _Gilly’s_ eyebrows rose high into her hairline before furrowing with a confused frown.

She glanced up and shook her head. “No, you’re not early.” Her eyes went back to the paper, flicking through the words. “It’s just…”

“What?” Arya’s gaze narrowed. “My cousin booked it. He’s a little thick. I _knew_ I couldn’t count—”

“There’s only one room available, miss.” Gilly looked miserable and blushed at the blank stare she got from the Stark girl. “But there’s two booked. I’m so, so sorry, there’s obviously a huge mistake.” Her hands flew to the phone. “We _must’ve_ double-booked. This has never happened before – at least not with me.”

“That’s okay.” Arya said slowly. “Is there a free room we could possibly get?”

“None.” Gilly muttered, hiding her face. “There’s no vacancy this weekend, with the football game and the building so close to the stadium.” She said quickly, foregoing breaths. “I’m so sorry. I’ll call my manager.”

“No!” She paused at Arya’s outburst. “That isn’t necessary. It’s – _it’s fine._ We can share a room, right?” She looked at Gendry, then. “It’s only one night.”

He didn’t look so sure. In fact, he _almost_ looked frightened.

“Y- yeah.” He stuttered, looking at his feet. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

_Well, fuck…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting and kudos-ing my story. Ten chapters in!! Can you believe it's taken me this long to get to ten chapters? But I know where this story is going, now, unlike when I posted that first chapter, so hopefully, it'll be wrapped up before Christmas! Fingers crossed, haha.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin, I just want to thank y'all for reaching 200 kudos, holy shit! Thank you so much to the kind people who've read, kudos and a big, big special thank you to those who comment regularly. I can't even describe the feeling when I get an email notification from ao3. 
> 
> Cheers and enjoy this Gendrya filled chapter, haha.

**Chapter Eleven  
** **Wolves and Crows**

 

“Honestly, if the game suddenly got canceled, I _wouldn’t_ even be mad.” She heard him yell from the bathroom, his voice echoing in the hotel room.

“I would.” She grumbled. “Even if it was a five-star hotel—” She stuttered off, eyes widening as he entered the room in nothing _but_ a towel.

There was only one way to describe his body; sculpted like a God, his broad shoulders narrowing down to his waist (Sansa’s friend Margaery always said ‘Dorito Bod’). His abs were chiseled, chest so wide not unlike Sandor’s. She followed the train of hair, disappearing beneath the towel and swallowed thickly, eyes flicking back up to his face. Judging by his amused expression, her flustered attitude was _clearly_ obvious.  

“It’s just a _fucking_ towel.” He cheekily mimicked what she said _hours_ ago.

“That’s completely different!” Arya flushed as she argued, Gendry’s smirk growing wider with every passing second. “It is! I wasn’t expecting it—”

“And you think I expected you in nothing but a towel, opening the front door to your house?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry Stark, I’ll be out of your sights in a few minutes.” She averted her eyes as he crossed the room, bending down to zip open his bag and reaching for a fresh set of clothes.

He grinned on his way back to the bathroom, sending her a smug grin on the way.

Arya exhaled deeply, saved the current document and closed her laptop before rubbing a hand down her tired face.

He wasn’t wrong about the place. They were on the 18th floor and the view of the city was simply stunning. The bathroom _was_ especially nice, with a couple sized spa-bath, a high-end shower and luxurious soaps and shampoos lining the shelves (she made a note to nick some into her purse on the way out). And the bed – she almost _moaned_ when threw herself down onto the king-sized bed, 1450 thread count Ghiscari sheets, plump with pillows. Gendry, however, did moan when he hopped on the bed (they could both fit on the bed comfortably, thank the Gods). He harped on about the room for five minutes straight before promptly drifting asleep.

Arya smiled softly at the sight (he was a light snorer) before opening up her laptop and beginning the second draft on the article.  Four, undisturbed hours later and Gendry finally woke. 

Hence the ‘towel incident’.

“Shower’s free.” He announced after exiting the bathroom. He wore a black fitted shirt, dark skinny jeans and the same khaki coat from before. He began wrapping the Crows scarf around his neck as she passed him, clothes in hand.

She was quick to shower, was her hair with the sweet smelling high-quality shampoo and dress appropriately; she wore her Uncle Brandon’s old jersey, a vintage in the Wolves that was slightly tatted and faded. Complete with her black coat, white skinny jeans and her low-cut black boots. And of course, she plopped her father’s old Winterfell beanie on the top of her head.

“Wow.” Gendry laughed, covering his mouth with his hand as he gave her a once-over. “You really decked out.” She gave him a spin, smirking.

“Well, if I have to endure sitting in the Crows’ section, I may as well give them a show.” He shook his head.

“More like give them a reason to murder you. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection, stupid.” She scowled, folding her arms over her chest. “Are you ready? I want to be first in line at the bar so we can at least enjoy one beer before it crowds.”

“Best let me order it, then. You’re too short to even be seen.”

“I’m beginning to regret giving you the ticket, Waters.” He chuckled, throwing an arm over her shoulder after they exited the building. She’d be lying if she said she _didn’t_ take comfort at the comfort.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound it, so she pushed him away. He pressed the elevator button while grinning down at her. “So, where are we meeting your cousin?”

“Hm?” She turned, distracted from the glowing down arrow. “Oh, they’ll be in the box. He knows I prefer it in the stands – the atmosphere is so much better with the celebrating drunkards. Trust me.” He smiled then.

“Your cousin is one wealthy man.”

“That he is.” Arya huffed, earning a chuckle.

“What does he do—”

The elevator dinged and opened up to a sight – four young lads, clearly already on the piss, all sporting Winterfell colours and jerseys. They cheered loudly at the sight of her and booed at Gendry’s colours.

“What’cha doin’ with a crow supporter, lass?” One of the blokes asked after Gendry tapped the lobby floor.

“Come on, boys, they’re better than the Lions, at least?” She smirked at them, the doors closing as they nodded in agreement.

“Fuckin’ A, is that an old Brandon Stark jersey?” One of them shouted.

“I’d give me left nut for that.”

“Don’t bloody tell me.” Gendry grumbled, staring at her in awe. She laughed and quickly exited the stuffy elevator when the doors opened. “You’re football royalty.”

She rolled her eyes as he hurried after her.

“He was my Uncle.” She dismissed quickly. “I never met him – he died before I was born – but when my Dad discovered my interest in football, he made me watch all the games; and when I fell in love with the game, he pulled out the old jersey. It’s my prized possession.”

“No wonder you’re so naturally brilliant at the sport; it runs through your blood.”

Suddenly, withholding Jon’s profession seemed all the more satisfying.

They exited the building and found themselves walking among other Crows and Wolves supporters to the stadium a few blocks away. Gendry had his hands in his pockets, walking leisurely beside her.

“Are you excited?” She asked seriously, gauging his reaction. He looked up and seemed ten years younger with the expression he wore.

“I’m beyond excited. I mean, I never thought I’d see a game in person let alone a Crows, you know?” He shook his head. “But here I am – thanks to you.”

“I’m _glad_ it’s me who gets to witness you wet your pants, Waters.” He laughed.

Not long after following the crowd of jittery fans they arrived at the stadium, idly chatting here and there while they lined up at Gate F, the line steadily moving considering the game wouldn’t start for another hour and a half. Fifteen minutes later and they were inside the stadium, with their tickets scanned and directions were given to their seats (Gendry’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head when he realised where they were sitting) –  the doors were open to the stands, however, most people lingered in the bar for beers on tap or team merchandise. Arya watched with a smug smile as Gendry bought himself a Jersey with the no. 10 on the back with SNOW in bold lettering.

She almost felt cruel. _Almost._

It took an ungodly amount of time just to get the two shitty beers in the awful plastic cups, but neither of them cared – they both entered the doors to the stands with matching grins, finding their seats towards the left middle-half of the stands, quite close to the fields with a bloody decent view. And of course, Jon being Jon, had grouped them with the Crows. Gendry was in heaven.

“This is fucking amazing!” He shouted, adorably nodding to the music playing throughout the stadium as black and grey kits alike filled the seats.

“Wait until the game starts, mister.” She smirked, taking a refreshing sip from her beer.

He retrieved his phone from his pocket and brought up his snapchat, getting a quick pan of the field loud with chatter and music.

 _“The lone wolf dies.”_ He quoted a line from the infamous Winterfell Wolves’ song, getting a quick shot of all the Crows sitting together in their section before pointing the damned thing in her direction.

She poked her tongue out and he ended the snap with his booming laugh.

“What kind of lady pokes her tongue out?” He teased.

“The bad kind.” She winked and she swore he blushed. Arya snatched the phone from him as soon as he posted it to his story, switching to the front camera to catch the two in a selfie.

“Ah, no!” He said, shielding his face.

“No way, we’re documenting this thank you very much.” She leaned close to his shoulder, and he _begrudgingly_ wrapped his arm around hers, wearing a lopsided half-smile while she gave a horsey grin. She saved it, added herself on his snapchat and sent it before he could snatch his phone back.

Forty minutes out from the game and the players ran out on field, to the delight of the crowd, with the stadium _nearly_ packed. Gendry looked like a child on Christmas day.

“I fucking love Jon Snow.” He said, nodding to her cousin. “I don’t even care _how_ expensive this jersey was; it was worth every cent.” Arya’s grin grew wider. “I mean, seriously, did you just see the cross to Tollett?”

With twenty-minutes left to go and the night sky out with the stadium lights beaming, Gendry ventured back to the bar and returned with another two in hand, just in time for the National Anthem.

The whole stadium stood to their feet and sang loudly and proudly, reciting every word with a flurry. When the anthem ended, the teams respectively took position as Castle Black, being the Home Team, had kick-off.

The Official sounded his whistle and the game was on.

The first-half was intense. The crows held possession most of the time, always up their end of the field (Arya began to regret the brilliant view). But the Wolves had _always_ been stronger in defence. There _was_ a reason why Desmond, a left-back, was captain and not some forward like Fat Tom.

Twenty-minutes in, however, Edd Tollet came up the sideline and came up fast – he crossed it into Satin, who was so bombarded with defenders it left Jon out in the open a few metres outside the box. Jon ran onto Satin’s brilliant ball, striking it exceptionally hard and perfect.

All the Crows around her stood up in anticipation, cheering early in their hope.

The ball sailed through the air and arched into the top left corner of the net.

A roar went up amongst the crowd, and as annoyed as Arya _was_ about the goal, there was no denying the pride she had towards her cousin as he did his celebratory move, his team enveloping him in a group embrace. The wolves slowly moved back to their position, hands resting on heads.

Gendry shouted with delight as a [chant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zn358GqfpK4) echoed throughout the field.

‘WE’RE THE RANGERS, THE MIGHTY RANGERS  
WE NEVER WIN AWAY  
WE’RE THE RANGERS, THE MIGHTY RANGERS  
BUT WE CAN WIN AT OUT HOME GAMES!’

They collectively sang, much to the Wolves disgust, and Gendry looked like he enjoyed singing the ‘Wimba Way’ part way too much.

Winterfell kicked off and the game went back to its previous pace, with the defence from the Wolves stronger than ever. Everyone was on the edge of their seats it was that tough.

There was a breakthrough, ten minutes after Jon’s goal, when Hallis Mollen pulled off a brilliant save from right-winger, Pyp, put a good shot on goal from inside the box. He put his body on the line, slamming down on the ground whit full impact, ball safely in-between his gloved hands.

Hallis was quick to get up and run to the line of the box, bouncing it on his way (despite the loud stadium, you could still hear the bastard yelling at his team to ‘get the fuck down’). The ball landed at Poxy Tym’s feet, just before the halfway mark, who ran down the field and pulled an amazing move, zipping past Castle Black’s best defender, Grenn Aurochs.

He passed it out wide to Fat Tom, who took a gamble from his spot and took a shot.

The ball overshot the bar and a collective groan went up throughout the stadium.

“Fuck.” Arya hissed, falling back into her chair with a groan. Gendry smirked and she punched him in his arm, hard.

Forty minutes in the game and the Crows dominated the field, with Satin pulling through with a header. It slipped past Mollen’s fingers and hit the mark. Another cheer from the Crows went up among the crowd and Arya could only sink in her chair.

In the last minute of the game, the Wolves decided to have [some fun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PpJBR_rQJk) being two-nil down.

‘LET’S PRETEND,  
LET’S PRETEND,  
LET’S PRETEND WE SCORED A GOAL!’

Arya giggled as she whooped with the other’s in the grey jerseys, laughing and delighting in mockery of it all. Even the Crows laughed at their attitude, clapping them along.

The half-time whistle blew and the Stadium practically emptied so everyone could buy another round of beers without missing a minute of gameplay.

“I have to go to the loo.” She shouted in his ear, waiting for his answering nod as she walked back inside the bar and lined up with all the other busting women for the toilet. While she waited, she engaged in a pleasant conversation with one of the few women lining up (her boyfriend had dragged her to the game, much to her displeasure). They laughed and joined in on another two pair of ladies, ranking the fittest players on the field.

Arya loved this – it was part of the whole experience. Meeting someone you were likely never to see again and enjoying it while it lasts. It filled her with nothing but pure joy.

After she _finally_ used the toilet, she returned to Gendry who had one beer in his hand and handed it to her (clearly he was done for the night).

“Gods, you got a beer before I could even wee?” She asked, annoyed. “That line was awful.”

“That’s why you hold it in. It’ll be tricky now that you’ve broken the seal.”

“I’m not even tipsy, Gendry.” She rolled her eyes and ignored his pointed look to the third beer, and laughed when she flipped him off.

It was famous last words, however; not long after she’d consumed half her beer had she found herself mouthing off the ref as the second-half got underway. And then there was the goal; ten minutes in and Winterfell _finally_ scored, Tomard Varly volleying it into the net from a crossbar rebound shot.

Arya shot off her seat and spilled her beer into the air – lucky, she was sitting with enough drunks to cheer her one rather than be mad – screaming her joy.

She giggled as she sat back down, turning to Gendry’s dark gaze. He looked amused.

“You have froth on your lip.” She wiped at her lips and he laughed. “No, not that…”

He trailed off and brought his hand up to her face, gently brushing his thumb over the bow of his lips. His hand lingered, however, before moving to cup her cheek. She was paralysed and it was if all the sound had disappeared from the world.

Then a huge, inflatable penis bopped her on the head and she broke his gaze to push it across the stadium.

“BIG DICK.” The Crows chanted bawdily. “BIG DICK.” The woman on her right turned to her with a glint in her eye. “BIG DICK.”

“I bet you get his big dick all the time, ey love?” She cackled in her Northern accent.

Arya turned to a wide-eyed Gendry and giggled.

They booed when the inflatable penis was snatched by a security guard, and so began the [chants:](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jsm4ryP6RqM):

“WE WANT OUR DICK BACK!  
WE WANT OUR DICK BACK!  
WE WANT OUR DICK BACK!  
WE WANT OUT DICK BACK!”

The game was nearing the end, with the first half _proving_ to be more eventful with the second-half feeling like a tough battle between the two. They were four minutes off full-time when Jon won the ball off Poxy Tom, dribbling t down the field and tricking Desmond. He passed it off to Edd Tollett, by pure luck, took a shot that flew straight into the bottom right corner.

The Crows jumped up in down, pumping their fists in a right fury.

“GOING ON UP TO THE SPIRIT SKY,  
IT’S WHERE I'M GONNA GO WHEN I DIE.  
WHEN I DIE AND THEY LAY ME TO BED,  
I'M GONNA GO ON A PISS WITH DOLOROUS EDD!”

Their pounding feet carried the beat as the final whistle was blown. 

The crows had won; and she'd never seen Gendry so happy.

 

[~ * ~](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YHQkED__To>sang:</a>%20the%20victory%20for%20the%20last%20few%20minutes%20on%20field,%20and%20when%20the%20whistle%20signaled%20the%20end%20of%20the%20game,%20the%20stadium%20came%20alive.</p>%0A%0A<p>The%20Crows%20had%20won;%20and%20she%E2%80%99d%20<em>never%20</em>seen%20Gendry%20so%20happy.</p>%0A%0A<p%20align=)

 

“Arya.” Gendry began, sounding unsettled. “Why the _fuck_ is Jon Snow heading this way?”

It was half-nine and they’d been waiting a long time in _The Wall_ , a popular bar where many a crow supporter continued their celebratory drinking. Arya only began to giggle.

“Jon – your _cousin’s_ name is Jon – I can’t believe you!” He whined.” I’m wearing his jersey. I probably look like a right twat—” Arya only laughed harder, snorting and holding her belly as Jon loomed closer to the table.

“She already drunk?” Jon asked, smiling tiredly. “Such a lightweight.” He tsked.

“Come on Snow, you can’t talk! You're worse than the lot o’ them.” Ygritte teased as Arya composed herself, jumping off the stool to pounce on her cousin.

“I missed you.” She mumbled into his neck as he wrapped his arms around her.

“I missed you too.” When they parted, he ruffled her hair and she grinned as she pushed him away. “Are you going to introduce me to your…” He trailed off, a twinkle in his eye.

“Friend.” Gendry piped up for her, standing up nervously. “Name’s Gendry.” The two shook hands and both Arya and Ygritte scoffed at the formal greeting.

“Jon Snow.” Her cousin replied, eyeing the jersey. “Although you probably already knew that – nice to know you have a good taste in teams.”

“Arya forgot to mention _you_ were her cousin.” He glared at her.

“You’re so cruel,” Ygritte smirked. “I taught you well.”

Jon shook his head and shared a glance with his girlfriend. “Drinks?”

“I’ll get the first round.” Ygritte offered. “What’ll be?”

Gendry hesitated but went with one last beer, after Jon’s goading that the ale up North is better. Arya got her standard Corona while Ygritte _obviously_ went with the strong whiskey. She went hard.

Gendry and Jon wasted no time to talk about the fixtures and football. They were so engrossed they barely noticed to two gorgeous girls sitting opposite them, but they were too deep in their own conversation.

“He’s handsom’, Stark.” Ygritte commented. “Not like Jon’s pretty look but in a rugged way – fuckin’ Hells, he’s ripped.”

“I know,” Arya hushed, taking a long pull from her bottle. “And he’s sweet and funny.” She shook her head.

“You need to jump on that, ASAP.” She grumbled. “At least show him your tits.” The laugh erupted from Arya’s chest.  

“Gods, why don’t we visit each other more often?” Arya sighed.

“Blame your fuckin’ cousin.”

As the hours passed, with Jon and Gendry bonding like brothers, Arya and Ygritte took their drunken selves (just Arya) to the dance floor. They sang and swung their hips; hugged and clumsily swayed.

They played a game of pool and the girls won, slapping hands and making sure to rub it in.

“At least the Crows won.” Arya pushed Gendry so hard they both fell onto the ground, laughing maniacally and physically unable to get up.

Arya and Jon barely had time to bond, with it being a night with him being bombarded with fans and her too drunk to really process what was happening, but she was glad Gendry and Jon managed to befriend each other.

They parted ways and made plans for the morning and Gendry practically had to carry her arse home.

When they reached their room, she began stripping off her jeans and coat. She reached underneath her jersey and unclasped her lacy red bra, throwing it to the pile before blearily crawling into bed.

“Gods.” Gendry uttered. “You’re going to be the death of me.” She smiled groggily and barely noticed him set down the glass of water at her bedside table.

She was completely out of it when Gendry finished up in the bathroom switching off the light and hopping under the covers.

He couldn’t help but wrap an arm around her body and pull her close.

 

~ * ~

 

_“What’re you doing, little wolf?” Her father asked in an amused tone, eyes focused in on his daughter as she strapped the shin-guards to her legs._

_“What does it look like I’m doing?” She deadpanned, glancing up at her father before pulling up the long socks over the guards._

_“It looks like you’re getting ready for training.” He said, smiling. “I’m just wondering why considering the weather…”_

_“Syrio says running in the snow builds strength, like running in the sand.”_

_“What Syrio forgets to mention is the risk of breaking your ankle.” He grumbled. “I’m still not sure about this fellow.”_

_“Oh, Ned.” His wife said from her spot in front of the counter, prepping the veggies for dinner. “He keeps her occupied, away from Sansa and their arguments. I’d kiss him if I ever saw him.” Ned grinned warmly at this, eyes crinkling at the corners as her mother took a deep sip from her red._

_“I hope not. There’s only one man you’re allowed to kiss.”_

_“You’re right, Mr. Stark.” Theon said, entering the kitchen and planting a kiss on her mother’s cheek. Arya laughed as Theon swiftly moved in the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing the six-pack of Northern Brew before turning to leave. “I’ll be back in a few hours, love. I’ll look after Robbie and make sure he’s a good boy.” He kissed her mother on his way out, grinning and whistling as he disappeared out of sight._

_“If there’s anyone you should be worried it’s Theon’s influence on Robb.” Her mother sighed out, though she was still smiling from the affection._

_“Or maybe more concerned that Theon’s set his eyes on mum.” He laughed at this and shook his head as she began lacing up her boots._

_“Nope. I’m still worried sick about you, little wolf.” She rolled her eyes._

_“Dad, I’ll be fine. This is nothing, honestly – tonight’s our easy lesson, anyways.”_

_“There is no easy lesson with Syrio by the look of your legs.”_

_“Not to mention her state of exhaustion.” Her mother added. “But then again, even before Syrio you were always too tired to study.”_

_“I still pass, though.” She gave her mother a horsey grin who rolled her eyes and took another sip from her glass. “If you let me go, I promise I’ll do an hour of studying.”_

_“Why do I feel like she’s winning us over?” Ned asked, glancing at his wife._

_“Because she is.”_

_“You’re too wilful, you know that?” Her father sighed out. “My father always called it the wolf-blood. Your Aunt Lyanna had a touch of it and your Uncle Brandon more than a touch.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s what lead Lyanna to run away with a married man and Brandon to chase after them.”_

_The unsaid words were there: It’s what got them killed._

_“I’ll be fine, dad. I promise.” Ned exhaled a huff and rubbed at his temples._

_“Fine. Grab your stuff.”_

_She grinned as Ned walked off to grab his keys off the hook._

_The keys jingled._

Arya woke with a start. Her body jolted, eyes shooting open, only to be slammed back into something hard and flat – almost like a brick wall. She groaned and blinked groggily, trying to make sense of where she was. Her head began to pound like a beating drum, and if she sat up she was _sure_ to have the spins. Arya groaned again and settled back into the mattress, head burying deeper into the hard, flat brick wall—

—Gendry’s chest. His warm, broad muscled chest. His arms were encircling her, too; arm draped over her body, hand resting on her exposed stomach _too_ close to her breast for her liking, setting her hormones in a rage. If her shirt had risen any higher, he’d be feeling the jagged line of her scar. His legs were entangled in her own and she’d never felt so warm in her life.  

It was _almost_ wrong with how _right_ it felt, waking up in his arms. Despite the hangover and the painful beat in her head, she recognised the desperate need that lingered in the back of the head; Arya could get used to this, and it was _all_ the more reason to get the fuck out of the entangled maze they were in.

She carefully began to extract herself from the knot, but just as quick as she had jolted awake, Gendry was tugging her back to his chest. Only, this time, she was facing him.

“Just a little bit longer, Stark. It’s barely morning.” He croaked out, with his head burying into her shoulder before breathing in deeply “Peaches,” he murmured, and she felt him smile into her neck. “ _of course.”_

He could only be referring to the shampoo she’d used before the game. He pulled her closer, hand pushing her body _flush_ against his before resting at the small of her back.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

“Relax, Arya.” He whispered into her ear, thumb tracing light, soothing patterns on her lower back.

And so she listened, slinking her arm through the exposed gap and draping it over his own back. Arya drifted back asleep in a matter of minutes; this time, it was blissfully dreamless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the lack of Jon/Arya bonding but that'll be long and needs it own chapter really so look forward to that next (plus, Jonny boy would be grumpy and tired after a game haha). 
> 
> Be sure to check out those links of the football chants in the chapter (they crack me up). I tweaked a few of them to fit the characters, of course.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve  
** **'A Nice Oak Tree'**

 

The second time she woke that morning was only _slightly_ different. The sun was actually up and Arya had _sufficiently_ got her eight-hours with a somewhat dulled-down headache. She noticed the cool weather more than anything, though, and missed a certain something that she’d never admit to herself let alone anyone else.

Gendry was the one who shook her awake, coffee in hand and easy smile in place. He handed her a black coffee and told her to make use of that ‘gigantic fucking bath’ before taking a call from one of his football mates, retelling the game in an over-exaggerated tone.

Arya could remember looking at the spa-bath – the very one the website deemed a ‘couple’s bath’ – and glanced over to him. She remembered flushing as a thought drifted throughout her mind, glancing over to a very happy Gendry. He was looking at her through the open door, his eyes shining with something she couldn’t decipher, and Arya remembered just how _easy_ it was to see a relationship.

It was the same look he was giving her now from where he and Ygritte stood captured by a persistent stand-owner, looking over at Arya and Jon with amusement and that unintelligible glint.

“Bran called the other night.”

Arya huffed and turned to look at her cousin. He too was also glancing at Gendry, eyes flicking in-between the two before resting solely on his cousin. “And what exactly did _Bran_ say, hm?”

“He mentioned a few things – your reoccurring dreams was one.” She rolled her eyes and strolled away to one of the many candle stands at the _Sunday Oakenshield Markets._ “You used to tell me everything, you know.”

“There’s nothing to say; the dreams are back, hurray!” She remarked sarcastically, slamming down a jar so hard the woman selling them gave her a right nasty glare.

“What’s the go with you and that bloke?”

“His name is Gendry and if I recall last night, you two got on _just_ fine so quit glaring.” She moved on to a clothing stand, _Acorn Hall,_ walking through the racks of loose dresses and sorting through them – they had some _beautiful_ maxi-dresses that wouldn’t feel restricting.

“It’s not him I’m grumpy about.” He growled. “You dismissing your dreams as _nothing_ is your way of repressing—”

“I’ll bloody kill Bran.” Arya muttered through clenched. “What right does he have sharing personal stuff like that?”

“The right of a concerned brother.” Arya looked into his mirroring grey eyes (they looked black on some days) and softened her tone. “And now I’m exacting my right as a concerned cousin. Your _favourite_ cousin.” She snorted at this and returned to her task.

“That depends on how this conversation pans out?”

“So, little Robin will replace me?” She laughed at this brashly.

“No. I’ll prefer Axel, thank you very much.”

“You’d prefer a five year old over me?” She hummed her agreement. “You’ll have to spend a lot more time with Edmure, then.”

“Are you _ever_ going to return to the point of the conversation?”

“Seven Hells, _fine._ The point _is_ you should talk to someone. Be it me, Bran or, you know, maybe even Gendry.” She grimaced at this. “You can’t hold everything in, Arya, it’ll all eventually come pouring out like a bloody waterfall. And no one wants that, most of all you I bet.”

“There’s _nothing_ to talk—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. Your dreams – _no, nightmares –_ are terrible memories that bring up your deepest scars, Arya. Don’t pretend like it’s nothing.”

“You know nothing, Jon Snow.” She repeated Ygritte’s favourite line _knowing_ it’d peeve him.

“I know you, Arya Stark. I know you _better_ than anyone and I _know_ this is effecting you more than you’d let on.”

“What do you want me to say, Jon? That, yes, the dreams are back and, yes, they’re a reminder of how much it fucking sucks. Do you want me to talk about the guilt or the pain – because whining isn’t going to help…”

“It isn’t whining, it’s _discussing._ And talking helps.” He sighed. “Sansa talked to Sandor about Joffrey and look where they’re now. _Talking helps.”_

Arya looked up at Jon, bottom lip in-between her teeth.

“I had another early this morning.” She admitted softly, returning to busy herself sorting through the hangers. “It was all my fault, Jon.” Arya closed her eyes and leaned against the cool metal bar of the racks, hearing that _torturing_ key jingle. “If I hadn’t stupidly insisted—”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen. And there’s only one name we can fault, Arya, and it’s not yours.” She took a deep breath and straightened. “This is pretty.” He said suddenly, pulling a long green dress from the stacks. It had an acorn stitched above the heart.

“Green would look lovely on your complexion.” The lady running the stand intervened. “You should try it on.” Arya glared at her cousin but took the dress out of his hands and followed the lady out back to where a small cramped stall stood with a flimsy curtain for modesty. “All of our clothes are handmade and use organic material. Our brand is authentic.” Arya smiled politely as she stepped in the stall and pulled the curtain across.

She dressed quickly, stripping off her skinny high-waisted black jeans and the burgundy knit sweater. She pulled the dress over her head, ruffling her dark short hair, and straightened the fabric before looking in the shabby mirror against the wall.

The dress flowed nicely – rather than hiding her small curves it seemed to accentuate them – and the lady was right; the light green fabric colour truly did compliment her pale skin-tonne and contrasted her dark hair nicely. And Arya _begrudgingly_ admitted to herself that the acorn embroidered into the fabric above her left breast was cute.

“Are you dressed yet?” Arya jumped. “I want to see my handy-work.”

“It – _it doesn’t fit.”_ She lied, although she turned in the mirror and saw _just_ how well it fit her backside. “It’s too loose.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Jon insisted. “Please. Just a look.”

“You’re so stupid.” She grumbled as she shoved the curtain back. “What’s so bloody important about this dress, anyways.” She looked up and found Jon gaping. “What?”

“Too loose, my bloody arse.” Arya’s eyes snapped over to where Ygritte stood smirking next to a stone-expression Gendry. He gave her a slow once-over before meeting her eyes, and finally smiled.

“I’ve never seen you in a dress.” Arya rolled her eyes at this.

“I wear plenty of dresses, thank you very much. I just hate the _stupid_ misogynistic dress-code when it comes to certain events and a woman is _expected_ to wear a dress, like there aren’t clothes out there ‘fancy’ enough for our womanly figures unless it’s a dress.” They all stared for a few silent seconds before Gendry broke out in his booming laughter with Jon joing a few seconds later. Ygritte scowled and clout Gendry around the head as Arya began pummelling Jon in the chest.

“Ow.” They whined through their continued laughter.

Arya huffed and turned on her heel to re-enter the stall. “Wait, Ar, I’m sorry.” Jon said, still smiling. He cleared his throat. “it’s just – you had that scrunched up look about you; you know, the face whenever you go off in a tiff. I just get a picture in my head of some deranged Chihuahua going absolutely psycho—” His words dissolved into child-like giggles and Arya scoffed and closed the curtain in his face.

“Sorry, sorry.” He repeated through breaths. “The dress is very pretty, Arya. It makes you look… womanly.”

“I look like a bloody oak tree.” She scowled.

“Nice, though.” Arya stiffened at the input. “A nice oak tree.” She laughed, at this and stuck her head out of the curtain, looking him dead-on in his blue eyes.

“A nice oak tree?” She asked, narrowing in. “What kind of compliment is that?” Gendry stuttered.

“Gods, Arya, get the dress. It makes your tits look nice, shows the curve of your waist and that brilliant natural arse of yours.” Both the men choked on their laughter at this.

“Gritte, please don’t—”

“Oh, shut it Jon Snow.”

In the end, Arya stormed out of the stand with a bag in hand.

“Looks like I’m your fashion muse.”

“Fuck off.” Arya muttered, shrugging off his heavy arm around her shoulder as Ygritte cackled.

 

~ * ~

 

They parted ways after settling down for lunch at some nearby café.

“When will I see you next?” She asked after giving her cousin a long, drawled out hug.

“Well, there’s Robb’s stags party in February and me and Gritte’ haven’t yet decided what to do around Christmas yet.” Jon tilted his head. “And then there’s your birthday in December, also, so I may or may not come down for that.” He shrugged. “But if you _don’t_ expect many vists then you can damn-well expect a lot of calls.” Arya rolled her eyes and pulled him in for another hug.

“Promise you’ll come to one of my games?”

“He can come to the final.” Gendry interrupted. “See us win the title.”

“You sure we’ll get in the semis let alone the final?” She asked, amused.

“Positive.” Jon’s dark eyes flicked between the two of them.

“I’ll be at one of your games. And _if_ you get in the final, you can count on me being there – _unless_ it clashes with one of my games.” He reached up and ruffled her hair. “I’ll see you soon, little wolf.”

Arya smiled.

“Don’t be shy; call me if those...” Jon trailed off and looked warily at Gendry absently chatting to Ygritte. “…those things come up.” He looked back at her cousin. “I’m always free to talk if it’s that, Arya.” She smiled.

“Thank you, Jon. I’ll see you at Myrcella’s Hens night, no?” She turned to Ygritte and they wrapped themselves in a tight, swaying embrace.

“O’ course, love. You’ll have to keep me away from the tequila.”

“Oh no, ‘Gritte. We’re getting shitfaced – Gods, I couldn’t survive that sober.”

Jon and Gendry said a quick goodbye, and much to Gendry’s pleasure, Jon offered more tickets when Winterfell’s home game came around. After a few more goodbye’s, the pair returned to Gendry’s truck and got back on the road.

They drove through the city in silence. Gendry looked over.

“Little wolf?” Arya looked met his blue eyes at the red light. “That’s what Jon said.” She bit her lip to conceal her smile.

“It’s what my father used to say. He always regarded our family as a pack of wolves – it’s silly, isn’t it?”

“No, no.” He laughed. “My mother used to call me a stubborn bull – but it was usually only said when she was annoyed. Does your father still call you that?”

Arya’s smile dropped. “No, not anymore.” She hesitated. “He, um, he passed away when I was sixteen. So it’s just Jon who says it, now.”

“Arya, I’m so sorry.” She swallowed down the lump caught in her throat at the sound of his genuine tone. “I couldn’t imagine being so young and losing someone so important. I’m sorry.”

“Its fine, Gendry, you don’t need to apologise. It was a long time ago.”

A beat passed.

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A car accident.” Arya shrugged. “The road was slippery from ice and there was a driver coming the other way – it was dark, the driver was drunk and they were on the wrong side of the road, speeding, with their high-beams flicked on. My father had to swerve off the road; he didn’t survive the crash.”

She failed to mention how she’d been in the car and the minutes after that followed the collision. She failed to mention how the drunk drive got away with it and drove off unharmed. But telling Gendry part of that story had been the most honest thing she’d told _anyone_ about herself in years.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated. “Hearing that must’ve been really hard.”

“Yeah.” She said absently. “Yeah, it was. But like I said, it was years ago. And, although you can never _truly_ get over something like that, I’ve pushed on. I got myself a good job, and the house I’m renting out is in a really nice spot and suburb; not to mention, I’m surrounded by a loving family and my beautiful Nymeria.” To Gendry, it may have sounded genuine; to Arya, it was a reminder that she was doing okay. “And after years I finally signed up for football – and now I have a brilliant team who are all lovely and gorgeous girls, and the couch isn’t _too_ bad, I suppose.”

“Hey.” He nudged her and she laughed. “You’ve got an article, too. I look forward to reading it.”

Arya groaned. “Don’t remind me. My stupid boss sent me his critiques and expects me to have the second draft by tomorrow morning. I’ve barely started.” She sighed. “And if I have to deal with Petyr fucking Baelish again, I might _actually_ punch the fucker.”

“Whoah, easy.” He said mockingly. “Never heard of this bloke but I’m sure he doesn’t deserve such treatment from a lady.”

“Don’t.” She growled. “If you met him, you’d immediately have the same opinion. I mean, what _right_ does he have, along with Walder fucking Frey, to make decisions on a Northern historical site without consulting the people of the North.”

“Fucking government for you.” Gendry recited calmly, rising his brow at the glare she gave him. “What?”

“Well, if you hate it so much why don’t you _enrol_ to vote, avoid a fine, and vote for a better leader.”

“They’re all the same.” She pursed her lips.

“Well, I know for a fact if we had a Northern mayor they would never suggest tearing down a monumental ancestral site and using it to benefit themselves.”

“Maybe you should go for it. You’d be a good leader.” Arya laughed.

“I’m not qualified.” Gendry shrugged.                      

“Is anyone, really?” She shook her head. “If I could vote for you, I’d actually enrol.”

“Well, I’m flattered.” She smiled, turning to look out the window. She tapped her foot to the song playing on the radio.

“Hey Arya.”

“Yes?”

“About before, when I said you looked like a ‘nice oak tree’. I didn’t mean that I a bad way.” She couldn’t help but laugh. He flushed. “I _really_ did mean it as a compliment – I meant you looked pretty. _Really pretty, I mean._ ” He wore a pained expression before meeting her eyes. “I don’t know much about fashion, but that dress was pretty; I’m glad you bought it.”

“Me too.” Arya agreed after some time.

“Sorry for bringing it up, it was stupid.” He stuttered out. “I just didn’t want you to think I was calling you fat, if you _consider_ oak trees fat or ugly, you know? ‘Cos you’re not. I’m going to stop talking now.”

“Thanks, Gen. I understood what you’re meant.” He shook his head, grinning.

“I don’t think you fully understand it, though. What I’m actually trying to mean, you know?”

“I thought you were going to stop talking.” She teased, but it only made him frown with his brows more. “What were you trying to say, Gendry?”

“That you’re beautiful – the dress is pretty but it _wasn’t_ the thing that made you look nice, you know. I think you look nice with whatever you’re wearing. You could be wearing your tights and singlet to training and I think you look nice.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…” He trailed off. “This is- this song is good.”

“Yeah.” He reached for the dial and turned it up.

The next four hours were relatively done in silence, with the occasional small-chat coming up surrounding their next game. They were off to Harrenhall in the upcoming weekend, although there was a chance she’d miss that game depending on the final copy to be ready for Monday’s publish. She hoped not, considering she had friends from university. He allowed her to plug in her phone and annoy him with singing her favourite songs. She shared the last of her snacks and told him happily when Bran dropped Nymeria back at her place, ready for their arrival.

He pulled up to her house at half-six with the sun beginning to set, cutting the ignition. They sat in compatible silence in the warmth of Gendry’s Triton.

“Would you like to come in?” She blurted out. “I was thinking of cooking something easy like spaghetti; there should be everything in my pantry for it.”

“That sounds nice.” He agreed.

They hopped out of the truck and both went for the bags in the back, only Gendry got to it first and carried hers inside.

“I’m not helpless, you know.” She said hotly as she dug through her handbag in search of her keys.

“I know.” He said smugly, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s just funny to see you all riled up over a simple kind gesture.” She rolled her eyes at this and unlocked her front door. Something flew past her in a grey blur and a grunt sounded behind her.

Arya laughed at the sight behind her.

Nymeria had Gendry trapped beneath him, lapping at his face and whining in an excited tone. At first Arya was worried she was biting his head off his shoulders; it was rare to see Nymeria so friendly with a stranger.

“Hey girl,” Gendry said affectionately, scratching at her neck and ears, pushing her head away from his face. He chuckled at her persistence, especially when she laid on her back practically _begging_ for a belly rub. “Good girl.” He cooed.

Arya rolled her eyes and picked up the bag at his feet, striding away to dispense it in her bedroom. She quickly went to the toilet to relieve herself, coming out to find Gendry and Nymeria in the same wrestling positon.

“I thought she’d be worn out by Summer but clearly not.”

“Summer?” He questioned, as Nymeria’s ears pricked up and her golden eyes found her mistress.

“Bran’s dog. They came from the same litter, so they’re brother and sister – just like us.” Gendry nodded and absently ruffled Nymeria’s fur. She gave him a lick on the cheek, prompting more playtime.

Arya smiled at the pair, amusement in her tone. “I’ll start in the kitchen.”

She grabbed the packeted pasta from the pantry, the beef mince from the freezer and the sauce from the fridge. She began heating the pan before calling out to him.

“Hey Gen, would you like a beer?” She stuck her head in the fridge. “There’s some fizzy-drink as well but it’s a bit flat.” Arya took out the old bottle of sprite and took a sip straight from the bottle. “Gods, it’s flatter than my chest.” She muttered, nearly dropping the bottle at the sound of the snort that followed.

“The beer’s fine.” He looked amused. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She handed him the beer and fetched one for herself. “You could help prep the veggies, if you like?”

“Veggies in spaghetti?”

“Carrots and celery, nothing _too_ green.” She teased. “It was how my mother made it. She has some strange methods when it comes to cooking; you wouldn’t _believe_ what she does to her stroganoff.” Arya pulled a chopping board from on the cupboards and handed it to him.

“What does she do?”

“That’s a secret. I’ll cook it for you on some other night, if you want.”

“I think _I_ should be the one cooking next time ‘round, to repay you in some way; although, I’d probably just take you out.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “I’m not the best cook.”

She handed him the knife, carrot and celery stick. “Well, you best improve before this night.”

They worked in comfortable silence, with nothing but the sizzling pan and occasional sound of the knife hitting the board. Once the meat was cooked, Arya turned down the heat, drained the fat and added the sauce, pushing it around the pan with the wooden spoon.

“How’d I do?” Arya laughed at the sight of unproportioned celery and carrot pieces.

“You did well.” She said warmly. “Although, I expected the pieces to be somewhat similar to each other, butcher boy.”

It wasn’t long after that she ordered him to fetch a pot and boil water, plopping in the hard pasta not long after. Arya added the vegies to the pan and stirred it in the meat which had absorbed most of the sauce.

When the pasta was cooked, she plated up.

The pair sat on the couch, watching the rugby game with Arya’s second beer in hand and a glass of water in Gendry’s. He smiled at her.

“It’s _really_ good.” He said happily.

“I’m glad.”

They ate in silence, occasionally making comments about the game. Arya scoffed out loud when Nymeria sidled up to Gendry’s feet. Gendry went back for seconds and took her plate up on his way, leaving Arya to put her feet up.

‘Enjoying youself?” She asked a dreary Nymeria. She only huffed and dropped her head to the floor.

Minutes later and Gendry had his hands resting on his stomach. “That _really_ hit the pot.” Arya turned in her spot, curled up on the couch with a curious brow.

“I have a question for you.” He nodded for her to go on. “Wylla said she met you in university. I’m just curious if…”

“If I went to university and _how_ I ended up a butcher.” He laughed at her nod. “Well, I’m not the smartest person – I’m slow to understand things, according to Wylla – but for me, maths was always easy to understand. It was easy, you know, not like English – I didn’t _have_ to find some underlying meaning in it, there was just an equation and answer. No metaphors or fucking similes.” He sighed and continued. “I was doing the top maths _and_ extension, the only one of four to take it to year 12; it earned me a scholarship to study at _Thorrhen University_ \-- the highest success rate of post-graduates in Engineering, _even_ better than the Citadel.”

“That’s incredible, Gendry.”

“My scholarship funds, as well as my relocation bonus, helped me settle in at some student complex – I met Wylla the first night, in nothing but a singlet and her knickers already doing laundry.” Arya smiled at this. “Lommy and Hot Pie, the two blokes I got paired with for the apartment, introduced me to Weasel who I then introduced to Wylla – from that moment on, I was doomed to the crazy situations those pair always find themselves in.” He gave her a look. “You’ve only made the situation worse, trouble-maker.” He slapped her thigh lightly with the back of his hand.

“But it didn’t last long.” He frowned and looked at the glass of water in his hands. “Just a little more than a year into my course was when my mother got sick – Ovarian cancer.” Arya stopped breathing for a second. Without noticing, her hand reached down to pat his thigh. “No, no – she’s okay, now. She’s in remission.” Arya breathed a sigh of relief, her hand staying in place.

“She was lucky; very, very lucky. My mother was one of the rare cases of her particular cancer where it was _actually_ caught early on. She was immediately thrown into chemo and radiation treatments, and she told me not to worry and continue on with school. But she wasn’t working and my mother never indulged in another partner like my father – and when she did, Gods did she attract some pricks. Money was tight and I genuinely thought she wouldn’t make it through.”

Arya moved closer to his body, and absently began massaging his thigh.

“So, I dropped out and moved back in with her to help around the house and, eventually, got a job. My mother’s favourite nurse’s husband owned a butchery and he was in need of an apprentice – I was luck it didn’t go to some kid looking to drop out of high school; the money was shit but I was providing. And my mother got compensated monthly for her sickness, though most of it went to the hospital bills.

“After months and months of treatment, they finally offered the surgery. Both ovaries were taken out, seeing as the cancer had spread to both. But the chemo had stopped it from spreading anywhere else. A month after the surgery, the doctor happily told us that she was in complete remission. She went back to work not long after and I stayed and finished up my apprenticeship. When the time was right, I moved back up to Winterfell and was hired by Davos. Wylla convinced me to join the football club, which I did, and when their coach quit on them I took up the position.”

His blue eyes met hers and she smiled. “Do you ever think about going back to school?” He frowned at this.

“Sometimes.” He admitted. “But I like my job – sure, the hours are shit. But the pay’s not so bad now that I’m with Seaworth’s. And Davos is lenient toward my football, so I couldn’t really ask for any more. What about you?”

“What about me?” She asked.

“Where’d you study at?” She laughed at this.

“Harrenhal, actually.” He whistled at this. It was a tough school to get into. “Originally I _planned_ to study at Torrhen but I applied to _Harren_ on a whim and got in. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Shame.” He tsked. “We could’ve been acquainted _much_ earlier on if you’d picked the right university.”

“You forget you’re pushing thirty, old man. We wouldn’t have even met if you dropped out in your second year.”

“No, but you would’ve met Wylla and Weasel, and let’s be honest, you three are fated to be together.”

He asked of her times at Harrenhal, which she hesitated to answer. It hadn’t been that ‘young-adult experience’ people claimed it to be. There was Weese, who never seemed to leave her alone, always harassing her in his advances. And how could she forget the face of Chiswyck bragging about ‘fucking’ her unconscious friend, Layna.  

But she told him and he listened.

There was Elmar, of course. Her first and only serious relationship that lasted well over a year – she didn’t bring that up. Why would he care about a stupid, young relationship?

They talked for so long it was half-ten when she finally looked up to the clock. “Gods.” She groaned. “I really have to finish this fucking draft.” Gendry smiled then and stood up from his seat, stretching. Arya _immediately_ missed the warmth he radiated.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He said tiredly. “I would offer my help but I think I’ve made it clear how shit with words I am.” He bent down and gave Nymeria one last pat. “Goodbye, Nymeria.”

Arya stood and walked him out to his Triton. She’d wrapped up the leftovers and handed it to him while they stood out in the cool breeze.

“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you at training.” She nodded.

“I promise I’ll _actually_ be there this time.” He smiled.

“Good.” He looked at his feet shyly. “I _really_ can’t thank you enough for this weekend, Arya.”

“You deserve it.”

They looked at each other for a few silent seconds. He was the first to move, his arms wrapping low around her waist while she linked her arms around his neck, her head flushing against his shoulder. They both clutched at each other tightly, engaging in an embrace that lasted over a minute – although to Arya, it felt like a lame three seconds.

“Thank you.” He repeated himself after they finally broke apart. “Really.”

“Goodbye, Gendry.” She said sadly as he opened the door to his car and shut it behind him.

She watched him wave before driving away, standing alone on the sidewalk for a few silent seconds before finally returning to her home.

Arya sighed at the empty feeling, absently looking around her house before retrieving her laptop.

 She opened it up and stiffened with a realisation: She fancies her bloody coach.

_Fuck…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter stuck in my head since, like, chpt 4 hah lel.  
> ALSO, It's my BIRTHDAY today and your comments and kudos will honestly be the most precious of gifts to me, haha. SHOWER ME IN THEM, lel. 
> 
> Also, sorry for that TERRIBLE adaptation of the acorn hall chapter -- but come on, it's the biggest piece of evidence that these two BELONG together.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr [@Dalzonii](http://dalzonii.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> Comments and Kudos literally make up the wait for GRRM's Winds of Winter.


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